


It's Your Image Burnt Into My Mind

by AllTheseLittleWritings



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Art, Autumn, Blindness, Blood, Break Up, Christmas, Comfort, Depression, Drinking, Fluff, Gay Sex, Happy Ending, Hurt, Love, M/M, Missing, Music, New Year's Eve, Pain, Sex, University, implied eating problems, sorry the other boys aren't included
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-30 20:46:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 47,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5179028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllTheseLittleWritings/pseuds/AllTheseLittleWritings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><cite>He might not have to watch the piano keys when he plays it. He could close his eyes and still play the melody perfectly. But this man is living without his sight. He must be recognizing everything with his fingers, he has to create something on to that canvas and never see it with his own eyes. Because it seems that the man is blind. Clearly, literally blind.</cite><br/>-<br/>An AU, where Harry is a music student in university. He happens to be in a band that plays for art students. One of the art students is Louis. And Louis happens to be blind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi :)  
> This story is completely fictional and I want to point out that I know nothing about cataracts (which Louis has in this fic). I did some research and changed some things suitable for the story. I hope you enjoy the story and I will appreciate any feedback :)

Yellow leaves shake on black branches against the grey sky, a cold breeze singing in the air. People are dressed in warmer coats and gloves as Harry takes long strides to a coffee shop. It's close to his university, it's the place where he gets his morning coffee and tea after lunch. It's also a place where he sometimes comes to get something else to think about when he has a lot of course work to do or exams coming up. Sometimes it's a pain in the ass to study music, as he would just want to make it. But he also has to write about it, in to black and white, make it something you could touch. The music he likes isn't only in the air anymore after he has had to write a 2000 word essay about it.

 

The place is warm, cozy, filled with people every time he enters the door. He takes his place in a line to order his drink, stuffing his gloves in his pocket. Music plays softly, drifting to his ears, filling them with easiness, like air that he breathes in and out.

Harry smiles to a little girl standing by a table, waiting for her dad to give her a juice box with a small straw. The girl is almost the same height as the table she's standing by. She is wearing a blue jacket, little shoes on her feet. She has a hat on her head, threatening to fall over her eyes before her dad fixes it higher.  
The man scoops her up in to his arms and he locks eyes with Harry, both smiling back at each other. The girl is drinking her juice enthusiastically, her big brown eyes flying to Harry as they pass him by. Harry waves at the girl, she looking over her dads shoulder before they disappear behind the front door.

 

"A peppermint tea to go, thank you." Harry smiles at the cashier. The woman behind the counter pours the drink in to a takeout cup while Harry pays. He smiles as he takes the hot drink in to his hands and turns around.

He makes his way to a park, the sun breaking through the greyness of the sky. It shines through the almost bare twigs of the tall trees, like hands making a roof over the park. Little groups sit here and there on the grass over some quilts. Harry spots his study group, them laughing in a small circle.

"Harry!" A small brown haired woman named Jasmin calls out, when he approaches them. The rest of the group; James, Elizabeth, Lina and Jonah turning to greet Harry hi. They smile, Harry sitting down next to Lina. Jonah is holding a guitar on his lap, strumming out some notes.

"How's it going?" Harry asks, getting rid of his backpack and placing it next to himself.

"We were just thinking about the thing we have for the art students." Lina points out, tapping the tip of her pen to the surface of a notebook.

 

The thing is, they really need to get some sort of a mini concert planned out for the art students. They are supposed to go to their lesson for one day, the same art group doing their projects while Harry and the rest are playing music and giving them inspiration. They still have to decide about a few songs and if they should sing or not. That's why they have gathered outside, to make the last decisions.

And that is exactly what they do. After a few hours that feel like eternity, they have a set list, which will last through the whole day from 9 am to 4 pm. They have decided who is going to play what instruments and who is going to sing when they are going to sing. Harry is only playing the piano, even though he also plays the guitar. But he is quite content with his given instrument - it's a nice change for the string player.

The group makes their way towards the campus, laughter filling their route, Harry’s empty tea cup finding a new home in a trash bin. They give their plans to the art professor, who smiles gently at the paper in her hands. The band has a few days to rehearse everything, until it's the day of their "inspirational concert".

 

\- - - -

 

"Hello everyone!" Lina greets, saying it to the group of students behind their painting canvases.  
They are sitting by the walls, creating an empty space in the middle of the room. Everyone has their faces towards the band. They watch Lina and her friends set up the instruments, expecting something amazing.

The room is spacious and the roof is out of reach, up in the sky. Tall windows cover the wall on their right, bringing in natural autumn light. Harry sits behind his grand piano that had been brought in, just for him. He places his notes on to a holder above the keys. Harry touches the black and white surface lightly, testing the sound. He presses a few keys down, listening the gentle twinkle.

 

"It's not that bright inside." Jonah whispers to Harry, him adjusting the strap of his guitar. He snorts, the sound obnoxious. Harry looks at him, furrowing his brows. Jonah nods towards the students, his eyes fixed on someone.

Harry follows his gaze to find a young man, sitting by the windows, dark sun glasses covering his eyes. A huge canvas waits to be painted in front of him. He has a few paint bottles on a chair next to the painting stand, different kinds of ribbons wrapped around the plastic containers. Beads hang from some of the ribbons, some are smooth, some are clearly rough to touch.

The man looks down to his hands. He holds a paint brush in his fingers. He traces the brush against his skin, like he would be already painting some invisible sketches on to himself.

 

"Shhhh." Harry says, not looking back at Jonah. He straightens his back to stand straight next to Harry, playing a few chords. When Harry finally rips his eyes from the other student back to Jonah, he is looking down at Harry, shrugging.

“Don’t be rude.” Harry defends, sighing.

He plays a few keys, just the slightest tingle escaping from the instrument. He looks back at the crowd, finding the sun glassed young man having his face towards Harry. He doesn’t turn away, even though Harry is looking straight back at him.

Harry gets an uneasy feeling, turning his eyes from the boy away first. He looks down at the keys, playing them quietly. He sighs, braving to look back at the crowd. At the boy. And he has his face turned towards the huge windows. Harry looks down at the paint bottles on the chair: blue, green and white ready to be used.

 

"We are here to give you some live music. By the piano is Harry, on the guitar we have Jonah, James plays the bass, Elizabeth is on the drums and my name is Lina and I'll be your singer with my fellow-singer, Jasmin, today. We'll be playing some up beat songs and some more calm tunes." Lina tells to the students, their eyes following everyone as she says their names.

Harry lifts his eyes towards everyone, smiling and recognizing some faces. People who he has seen around the campus or at some parties, but has never spoken to them.

 

Their first song is a slow song, setting the mood in the room. It's actually perfect for the fall season and the quietness that has fallen all around. Elizabeth hits the drums lightly, the music staying all in all very mellow and pleasant.

The art teacher goes from student to student, asking them their plans for their art work and guiding them if they need any help. She nods her head to the slow rhythm, smiling at the music group when she has the chance.

 

Harry's eyes drift to the man by the windows. He is squeezing some blue paint on to a palette, tracing the edge with his hand. Harry stares at him, seeing him change the paint from blue to green and to white. He traces the ribbons by the bottles with his fingers, looking straight ahead at the canvas. Like he was... Trying to recognize the colors...

Harry keeps on watching him, his fingers finding the right keys to play without his eyes even making sure what he is playing. He is so used to the surface of the instrument, like he would have a third eye watching his hands, while his brain has time to do other things.

 

The young man places the bottles on their right places on the chair next to him, taking the paint brush from his lap on to his right hand and keeping the paint palette on his left. He dips the brush in to a cup of water, his fingers reaching towards it, finding it by the paint on the chair.

He tests the brush against the back of his hand, before he finds the paint on the palette. He mixes the damp tip of his paintbrush in to the green, mixing it for a few circles. He strokes the brush against the palette a few times before he presses it gently against the canvas in front of him. He paints slowly, his hand finding a way of its own. Harry hears the song coming to its end, making him turn his eyes away from the painter.

 

Harry turns the page on his music notes and starts to play the next song. He watches his own hands work for a moment, before he looks back at the young man by the painting canvas. He is dipping the brush in to the white paint and raising it back on to the piece of work. He paints and Harry plays the piano and the sun drifts out from the clouds outside and colors the room orange.

 

Harry is mesmerized by the painter. He seems like a person who maybe enjoys more of the process of making art, rather than writing about it. Harry smiles to himself, making a mental note about the sun glasses. It really isn't that bright inside for him to actually wear them.

Until the different paint bottles flash in to his mind, with the different ribbons. Harry swiftly turns his eyes to the man, finding the teacher next to him. The teacher is holding the man’s hand in hers, tracing the paint brush against the canvas with the student, and that is when it hits Harry.

He might not have to watch the piano keys when he plays it. He could close his eyes and still play the melody perfectly. But this man is living without his sight. He must be recognizing everything with his fingers, he has to create something on to that canvas and never see it with his own eyes. Because it seems that the man is blind. Clearly, literally blind.

 

\- -

 

It's a few minutes to four, the band playing the last song. Some art students are already packing their pencils and crayons in to their boxes. Some make the last improvements in to the works, writing a signature by a round shape or hiding it in the painted shadows. Harry closes his eyes for a moment, straightening his back. He plays the last notes alone, the rest of the band already quiet. He finishes the song, pulling his hands back from the instrument.

Harry opens his eyes to look at the group of students listening. He smiles at them, his eyes drifting to the blind painter. Harry stares at him, while the man with the glasses sits still, a blond man standing next to him. The blond is looking at the work of art, whispering something to the artist’s ear. It makes him smile, only little, but still he smiles.

 

"Thank you everyone, hopefully the songs that we had chosen were pleasurable and they gave you inspiration to do your work." Lina smiles and earns a wave of discreet applause. After her words, everyone starts to gather their things, some people already walking out.

A few students come to thank the band, saying that the music helped them to find the last spark to make their art complete. A few people even come to say their thank you's to Harry. He smiles, the smile catching to the people who he is speaking with.

 

But his focus is on the man with the paint bottles and paint brushes and that blond friend who is laughing loudly at something that had happened to him. The painter smiles, answering or asking him something quietly.

"Excuse me." Harry says to a girl who is standing by the piano and staring at Harry with curious eyes. The girl smiles, saying her goodbyes. She quickly turns away and hugs her notebook in her arms. Harry scoops the music notes in to his hand and pushes them in to a folder that he takes from his shoulder bag. Roughly he puts his things in to his bag and with brave steps, he walks to the man and his friend.

 

"Hello, hi." Harry flashes them a smile, the blond man turning to him. He was telling something about a friend who had overslept from a lecture. When the friend had managed to get to the lesson, the blond had noticed that his friend’s shirt was the wrong way round on him.

The blond silences himself when Harry greets them, his eyes twinkling.

"Hello." The blond man says, offering Harry his hand.

"I'm Niall!" He introduces, a slight accent coming through his speech.

"Harry, I was playing the piano there." He says pointing the band with his thumb. His eyes land on the artist. He stands behind his canvas, his face towards Harry and Niall. Harry's heart picks up its pace, nerves settling in his stomach.

 

"Uhh, yes, uh, I was.. Ummm." Harry can't get words out of his mouth. He slaps himself on the cheek in his head, trying to psyche himself up. Niall looks at him keeping his eyes on the artist as well. He presses his head down, clearly trying to hide a smile.

"I was just interested to know if... Our music was inspirational." Harry smiles with his cheeks tight. He closes his eyes, shaking his head slightly. He breathes the air out from his lungs and looks up at the artist. He stays quiet, a blush creeping up on his cheeks. He has his face turned towards Harry, but Harry can't be sure if he is trying to look at Harry or if he's just trying to search his voice.

"Yes, it was nice. You are very talented." The man says, a small smirk curving his narrow lips upwards. Harry smiles back, his eyes twinkling. He also realizes that he doesn't know what else to say.

 

Niall starts to cough next to the painter, turning towards his ear.

Harry can barely find the words your name through the coughing, that was clearly meant for the man behind the glasses. The artist turns his head slightly towards Niall, then reaching his hand out. Harry's eyes follow the hand, finding paint stains on his knuckles and palm.

"I'm Louis." The man says, his cheeks tinting pink.

"Harry." He catches Louis' hand in to his and squeezes it. Louis' hand is cold, his fingertips the coolest. His skin is soft, and his grip strong but his hold also makes Harry very conscious to not squeeze Louis’ hand too harshly.

"Nice to meet you." Harry says, slowly letting go of Louis' hand and pulling back. Louis' hand stays between them for a few seconds after Harry has already let go, but then he pushes it in to his pocket, taking a step back.

 

They don't know what else to say, Harry standing on his spot, holding the shoulder strap of his bag. He watches Louis and Niall, the blond one smiling at Harry widely.  
Louis doesn't know what to do, he just stands there in front of Harry and keeps his hands in his pockets. Harry sighs, a tumbleweed rolling in his brain.

Niall nods towards the painting, looking Harry straight in the eyes. Harry shakes from his thoughts, turning his eyes from Louis’ brown soft messy hair to the painting he created while Harry was sitting behind the piano.

 

His eyes meet one of the most beautiful paintings he has ever seen. Like he would've seen many. But the ones he has seen, they haven't been this amazing.

It's a depiction of sea, the waves coming to life and roaring from the canvas towards Harry. The different shades of blues and greens meet and mix in the foamy waters, the painting so life like that Harry could swear its moving.

 

"You made this now? I mean the painting?" Harry asks, his mouth hanging open.

Louis lifts his head towards Harry, turning it towards the painting.

"Yes." He only says, leaving Harry without a thing to work from.

"It's breathtaking." He comes up with, not knowing how to continue. He looks at Niall, raising his hands slightly at him. Niall shakes his head, smiling comfortingly.

"You know, I can see what you are doing." Louis snaps suddenly at Harry. Harry's eyes land on Louis, who gathers his things and rushes past Niall and towards the door. He leaves the two men standing still, watching after him.

 

"Louis.. Louis!!" Niall sighs, starting to put on his jacket. It’s hung on the back of Louis’ chair, which he was sitting on earlier.

"I.. I thought that he was.. Unable to see.." Harry says, confused of what's going on.

"It's not that, like he can see, but only figures. Not actually much but still he can see something. It was nice meeting you Harry." Niall tells him quickly, checking he has everything in his pockets.

 

"See you later yeah?" Niall asks, looking Harry in the eyes. He brushes past Harry, adjusting the jacket on his shoulders. He turns towards Harry, walking away with his back towards the doors. 

"Yeah, it was nice meeting you." Harry stays to stand by the painting, watching at Niall's ascending back when he turns away to run after Louis. Harry isn't really sure of what happened. When he turns to look at the painting, which is trying to dry in the sun, trying to catch some air between the waves, Harry thinks that going after someone like Louis is almost impossible. Someone, who sees the world so differently from Harry.

 

Everyone else has already left, the last student walking out the studio doors just now. Harry sees Lina from the corner of his eye, packing away her notes. He sighs and turns to walk away, seeing Lina come up to him.

"You want to know more about mister Louis Tomlinson?" Lina asks, walking to his side and bumping her elbow to Harry’s side gently. She cocks her brow at Harry and smiles wickedly.

"You know him?" Harry asks, walking with her to the doors.

"Ooh you know, it's not my first time when I see him. I usually talk with him when I take my grandpa to the eye doctor." Lina talks like it's not a big deal.

"What?"

"Yeah, he is sometimes there at the same time when grandpa has his eyes checked." Lina says, adjusting her bag on her shoulder.

 

"I could give you his number?" She suggest.

"Let's not get too far ahead okay?" Harry smiles, shaking his head.

"I think you could be quite good friends. I've always thought so when I've talked with him. It's almost a miracle that you haven't met him before." She shrugs at Harry, looking at him with her head tilted.

Harry sighs and looks back at her.

"You can tell me about him but I want to have his number from him, if,” Harry points his finger at Lina.

“If I get to know him better by actually talking with him. Not with you, him." Harry tells her, Lina laughing quietly at his words.

"Come on then curly. Let me convince you to get to know him better." She grabs Harry's hand in to hers and leads them to the familiar coffee shop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on tumblr: [sing-about-being-free](http://sing-about-being-free.tumblr.com/) (main) or [alltheselittlewritings](http://alltheselittlewritings.tumblr.com/). Come say hi or please leave a comment :)


	2. Chapter 2

Harry takes a sip of his chamomile tea. He bites his lips together, rolling his tongue against them. He tastes the honey from the tea, the sweetness sticking to his mouth.

“So you want to know more about him?” Lina asks. She raises her brow at Harry, her eyes glinting behind her coffee cup. A faint cloud of steam rises from the cup, making her eyes seem hazy.

“I’m not sure..” Harry shakes his head and rests the tea cup on the table, cradling his hands around it.

“Oh, c’mon! I know you! You are totally smitten with him!” Lina kicks Harry’s shin under the table, making him pull his legs away from her.

“Just ask!” Lina smiles, holding her cup in her hands.

Harry sighs, like he would be contemplating life, not about a guy he might be interested in.

 

“What is he like?” Harry settles, raising the edge of the mug to his lips again.

“He is very nice, polite, he can be a bit sassy at times. He has a big heart, he gets shy sometimes, he cares about others. I bet you’d get along really well if you’d get to know him.” She tells Harry, smiling gently.

“Next question.” Lina announces, making herself comfortable in her chair.

 

“I’m not.. I don’t know if I should be talking to you about this.” Harry furrows his brows. He plays with a grain of sugar that has fallen from a doughnut on to the table.

“Why aren’t you sure? I saw how you rushed to talk with him after the class. Why is it so hard to make friends with him?” Lina questions.

And that really is a good question. Harry knows that he could right at this very moment be talking with the actual Louis Tomlinson. He could be asking these questions from him. He could be getting to know Louis. He could be..

But still here Harry is, sitting opposite from Lina. And Harry is nervous to talk to her about Louis. Why? Because he seems different. The first thing Louis could get to know in Harry isn’t his brown curls, or his dimples or his smile. It’s his voice and it’s his way of talking. It’s everything else, the deeper things, rather than the things he shows outside. 

 

“Because he will see something else rather than the things that I’m willing to offer.” Harry tells her, his insides twisting with nerves.

“Oh, well…” She doesn’t know how to continue, her smile losing it’s hilarity it had before.

“We don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to?” Lina proposes. And even though it’s for the best, still Harry feels like it'd be a good idea to talk about this. Maybe then he could gain some courage to talk to Louis.

 

“Just tell me.. Do you think he could be.. You know.. Interested in..” Harry is afraid to continue the sentence. It seems weird to ask his friend if a guy he is interested in, is in fact gay.

“Let me tell you, he is completely in to men. Once he came to the doctor’s office with a guy, hand in hand. His name was Alex, very fit, nice teeth and everything. But I guess they broke up soon after because that was the first and only time I saw him with Louis.” Lina shrugs, mixing her coffee with a spoon.

“Oh.” Harry looks down at his mug, the tea growing colder by the minute. The liquid looks like lake water, cold and unclean.

 

“What is wrong with your grandpa?” Harry questions, trying to change the subject. Apparently Lina catches his intention when she smiles and gives a light laughter at Harry.

“He has cataracts. It’s getting worse so he has to go to check ups. Apparently he is going to be blind in a few years if he won't get it fixed in a surgery.”

“Sounds horrible. Does he still see or has it affected his sight already?”

“He has told me that sometimes he can’t see well but he is wearing glasses now so I guess it helps at least a bit.” Lina looks down at her coffee, her features settling to a more melancholic expression. Her small smile is sad, her face telling that she is reminiscing something that was long ago.

 

Harry reaches out for her hand, holding it tightly. He doesn’t say anything, because he doesn’t know what to say. If he would turn blind in a few years and know it, he wouldn’t know how to cope with the knowledge. World is full of things he hasn’t seen, dreams that he wants to live, sights he wants to prove to be real. He can’t imagine being blind someday. Not able to see all the beautiful things that this world is able to offer. All the people he cares about. His thoughts drift to Louis, what his life must be like.

“Do you know why Louis can’t see? Or at least I understood that he can’t see.” Harry looks at Lina, his heart beating a thousand miles a minute.

“He was able to see when he was younger. When he turned nine, he was almost completely blind. He also has cataracts, I guess he has always had it, since he was a young child. He has told me that he's waiting for a surgery to get the damaged lenses replaced.” Lina looks up to Harry, meeting his eyes.

“It must be.. Different to not see..” Harry mumbles, not sure of what he is trying to say. Lina laughs, her voice high like a giggle.

 

“Give me your phone.” She orders, releasing her hand from Harry’s grip and reaching it to him.

“Why?” He asks, already digging it from his pocket. She doesn’t say a word, just taps it a few times, typing something to the device.

“Here, call him when you’re ready.” She tells him, giving the phone back to Harry. He looks down to the screen, Louis’ name on it, a phone number under the letters. Harry is about to say no, but Lina kicks his shin again, making him only whine in pain.

“I’ll keep it if you stop kicking me.” Harry says through his teeth, his eyes blazing.

“That’s my boy.” Lina leans back to her chair, smiling contently. Harry chuckles back at her, pushing the phone in to the pocket of his black jeans. In reality, he isn’t even mad at Lina. Maybe he will call Louis.

 

\- - - -

 

Harry eats his muesli by the dining table, an empty chair in front of him. He can only see his own reflection through the windows glass, looking back at him through the dark. He would really like to have someone here, maybe right now, talking back so Harry wouldn’t have to talk to the mute plants.

But he is alone in his small flat. The magazine on the table next to the bowl of whole grain cereal discusses about finding content in one’s life. Harry sighs, hearing a light tinkling sound somewhere - his phone reminds Harry of its existence in his bedroom.

Harry walks to get it from between his decorative pillows, an unknown number trying to reach him. Harry furrows his brows together, taking the phone to his hand. Just as his thumb is about to press the answer-button, the call ends. Harry stays to stare at the screen, the light dimming to black. He is about to throw the phone back on to the bed, when it rings again. It’s the same unknown caller.

 

Harry answers the phone, pressing it to his ear.

“Hello?” He asks, hearing some shuffling. It’s probably a wrong number, Harry is almost sure about it. Until he hears someone whisper “take the phone god damn it”.  
Harry listens as the person on the other end apparently switches. Suddenly it’s quiet, no one saying a word.

“Hello?” Harry repeats, waiting for an answer.

 

“Uhh, hi?” A voice says. It’s soft, a little bit of a rasp to it.

“Hi, who’s this if I may ask?” Harry takes the professional approach, if the person really is mistaken of the number.

“It’s Louis.” The man says. Harry’s eyes turn from sleepy to wide open in a fraction of a second.

“Louis! Hi!” Harry says, surprising himself with his over enthusiastic voice. He has to turn it down a notch.

“Hi. It’s Harry right?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s Harry. How are you? How did you get my number, it said it’s unknown caller.” Harry breathes through his mouth, making sure that he isn’t blowing the air towards the speaker. He hears silence, realizing he might’ve given away too much.

 

“Uhh, I’m good. I’m calling to apologize for snapping at you like I did the other day. I’m sorry.” Louis laughs nervously, Harry’s chest swells with his words. He didn’t exactly expect an apology but at least he is talking with Louis.

“Thank you, it’s alright.” Harry rushes.

“Okay, well good then. Okay.” Louis says, his voice thinking about ending the call.

 

“Do you already have my number?” Louis asks suddenly. Harry’s palms sweat, a lump in his throat appearing and making him speechless.

“Kind of. Yes. My friend, Lina, gave it to me earlier today.” Harry bites his teeth together, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger.

“Ah, the famous Lina! She told Niall to make me call you. So, I’m calling from Niall’s phone.” Louis laughs awkwardly. Harry smiles at the thought of Louis somewhere, trying to make jokes even though the call is making them both cringe.

 

“Well, okay then. Thanks for accepting my apology.” Louis’ sincere voice fills Harry’s ear. He is going to end the call, he is preparing for it at least.

“Uhh, Louis?” Harry says out loud before he has the chance to say anything that could relate to not talking.

“Yes?”

“I was thinking if maybe you’d like to, maybe sometime, go, out, with me?” Harry feels the heat on his cheeks. He sits down to his bed, crossing his legs. His foot shakes in the air. It feels like an eternity waiting for Louis to say something. Harry is almost holding his breath, ready to be turned down.

 

“Okay.” Louis answers. His voice is surprised, so full of surprise.

“Okay?”

“Yeah, okay.” Louis’ smiling voice answers back.

“Okay!” Harry laughs.

“When would you like to go somewhere?” Louis’ voice reaches Harry’s ear.

“When ever you can, maybe on Friday? We could go see a movie or have a cup of tea or something.” Harry goes on enthusiastically. His cheeks start to hurt from smiling so widely.

“Maybe we’ll go for that tea?” Louis’ voice is faint, unsure. And then it hits Harry, what he asked.

“Oh shit, oh fuck, I’m so sorry, so so sorry.” He slaps his forehead with his palm, cursing at himself. A movie! Get a grip Harry, he thinks to himself.

 

“It’s fine. Okay, so on Friday we’ll meet. Where? And when?” Louis chuckles, relieving Harry’s embarrassment.

“Are you allergic to cats?” Harry asks, getting silence as an answer.

“Are you really asking me that?” Louis voice comes in to Harry’s ear clearly confused.

“Yeah, I know this café and there are a lot of cats. But they have the most amazing cakes. Sooo…”

“So you are asking if I’d go to a cat café with you?” Louis laughs, genuinely laughs. Harry feels dumb, like he'd be a young child who is asking his dad to go see cats in a café and only gets laughed at.

“It sounds wonderful. Tea, cats and cake. Sounds like a normal Friday night for me.” Louis chuckles. His voice vibrates, the sound deep through the receiver. Harry starts to giggle, muffling it against the palm of his hand. The feeling of being a boy disappears, the word daddy echoing in his head with an over sugary and kinky way, as Louis’ vibrations of laugh mute. Harry's thoughts make him giggle even more. He has to clasp his hand on his mouth to stop himself.

 

“Would seven be okay?” Harry proposes, a few ripples of laughter still escaping his lips.

“Sounds alright.”

“Okay excellent. So I’ll see you on Friday. I guess I can ring you later and tell you the address?”

“You can also text me the address, I won’t be driving there. Niall will drop me off, so you can give me the place by text.”

“Okay, cool, I’ll do that.” Harry nods, his eyes glittering in his apartment, where it’s dim and the only sources of light catch his eyes.

“Okay. Umm, I’ll see you then, then.” Louis confirms, the words running out between them.

“Yeah. Okay well I’ll see you, bye.” Harry says, awkwardness settling on the line.

“Bye.” Louis says, hanging up first.

 

Harry lowers the phone from his ear, keeping it in his hands on his lap. He has a date with Louis fucking Tomlinson, this Friday, and they are going to a café full of cats and cakes.  
Harry starts to laugh manically. He raises to his feet, throwing his phone to his bed. He lifts his hands up in the air like he would’ve made a goal while playing football. He laughs so loudly that a few loud cheers escape his mouth.

He laughs and cheers and smiles and he can’t decide what he should do next. A loud banging sound from the other side of his wall stops his celebrations, a framed picture of him and his mom and sister lightly shaking against the surface. Harry stands still, not being able to suffocate his smile.

“Yayyy!” He whispers, doing a few more controlled fist pumps in the air next to his sides. He goes back in to his kitchen, sitting down by his bowl of cereal, finishing it and reading the magazine even though the words from the article never stick to his brain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on tumblr: [sing-about-being-free](http://sing-about-being-free.tumblr.com/) (main) or [alltheselittlewritings](http://alltheselittlewritings.tumblr.com/). Come say hi or please leave a comment :)


	3. Chapter 3

Harry stands in front of the café, his hands covered with black gloves. He buries his chin in to his thick black scarf, trying to keep the cold wind away from his skin. Maybe I should’ve worn a hat ,Harry thinks, cursing the freezing autumn that is falling over the streets. A few, small, droplets of water make their home on Harry’s cheeks. He looks up, smelling the rain in the air.

Some cars drive by, the street calm as people have stayed inside to battle the autumn weather. Warm lights create halos around windows on the block of flats. Harry looks longingly at the café behind him. Some people have already found good spots to sit, a few cats making their way towards their legs to purr against.

 

Maybe this was a bad idea, Harry whispers to himself, as he digs his phone out to see the time. It’s already ten past seven. Louis is ten minutes late. Oh god, I’m being stood up Harry groans out loud, the words staying inside his head. If Louis isn’t here in twenty minutes, Harry decides to give up. Then he has officially made a fool of himself and asked Louis Tomlinson to go out on a date to a cat café and been stood up, in front of that ridiculous cat café.

Harry sighs, a car slowly pulling up towards the place. He directs his eyes to it, the front lights blinding him. The dark painted car drives past. Harry shakes his head and is completely sure that Louis isn’t coming. The car comes to a halt, no one stepping out. Slowly Harry turns his sight back to the car, the driver’s door opening.

 

“Hello Harry!” Niall hollers, stepping out and leaning his hand against the roof. Harry starts to walk towards the car, the front door opening. Louis swings his legs out slowly, his feet touching the ground. He takes a hold of the door and stands up, not knowing where to look.

“Hi Niall!” A feeling of happiness sweeps over Harry, a wide smile taking over his face. He rushes to Louis’ side, tentatively placing his hand on Louis’ shoulder. Louis turns his head towards him like a lightning would’ve struck him, when he feels Harry’s touch. It doesn’t need much, just a light brush against his dark green wool jacket and he knows where the face he needs to be towards to is. His black glasses cover his eyes.

 

“Hi.” Louis says, the edges of his lips shyly turning upwards.

“Hi.” Harry smiles back, the happiness catching his voice.

“Well, you have a great time. Call me Louis, when you need me to come pick you up.” Niall says, before he waves Harry goodbye and sits back in to the car. Louis steps away from the door and closes it, a loud bang sounding as he shuts it way too hard. Louis’ face twitches as he presses his teeth together. Harry catches Niall laughing in the car, before he speeds away.

 

“So, ready to go inside?” Harry asks, taking a few steps towards the cafe. Louis stands still, his feet ready to take steps forward but still staying glued to the pavement.

“Yeah, but uhh. It’s a bit hard for me, you know, not seeing where to step and which way to go.” Louis laughs nervously, his shoulders tensing.

“Oh shit! I keep forgetting. Sorry.” Harry comes back to his side, gently taking Louis’ hand in to his. Harry sees the grey gloves he has on, snowflakes embroidered to the fabric. He smiles and leads Louis in to the café, making sure that there is nothing on the way when they walk inside.

 

Quiet music sounds against the walls, people talking lowly. Someone laughs a silly laugh, high and giggly. Harry turns his eyes to Louis, who is hiding his mouth to his grey wool scarf. They stand in the line, Louis on Harry’s left side. Harry doesn’t let go of Louis’ hand, ready to help him.

“What?” Harry asks, leaning to Louis’ side and asking it close to his ear. He squeezes Louis’ hand gently, his long fingers curling against the back of Louis’ hand. Louis’ pulls away slightly, his smile never leaving his face.

“That woman, who laughed, sounded just like my aunt. She laughs just the same way.” Louis tells Harry.

“But before you suggest that maybe it’s her, it’s not, because she lives in Spain.” Louis tells Harry, before he can say anything.

“Why do you think I would’ve suggested that?” Harry chuckles, actually not knowing how to react to Louis’ words.

 

Louis thinks for a moment, facing Harry. The glasses seem like a black mirror to Louis’ soul. Harry would want to take them off, to actually see Louis’ eyes. He probably has beautiful eyes. Everything about Louis is so beautiful. His hair, the curve of his cheeks, his small hands, even his knees are beautiful.

Somehow Harry is grateful that Louis might not see him, because Harry is sure that Louis could see straight through him. Louis could possibly read Harry’s mind, see what he is thinking about.

“Because you seem like a person who would describe the woman to me. Say that maybe it’s my aunt, even though it’s not.” Louis smiles gently, turning his face away. Harry can distinguish Louis’ cheeks blushing as he has his face forward. Harry smiles too, really glad that Louis can’t see his stupid grin right now.

 

“So what are they offering here?” Louis asks, as they take tiny steps towards the cash register.

“There’s a showcase of cakes and some pies. I think there are some savoury things as well if you don’t want anything sweet. Teas, special coffees, hot chocolate, juices. What’d you like?” Harry lists the things he can see, his eyes trailing whatever are on display.

”You said something about cakes when we talked on the phone. So tell me, what do you recommend?” Louis says a bit more quietly to Harry, his cheek brushing against Harry’s shoulder. Harry stiffens next to him, breathing out the tension that takes over his shoulders.

Harry doesn’t know why, but he feels like he has to be very alert around Louis. Maybe protect him. Be someone he can trust. And that is what Harry really wants. He wants Louis to trust him.

 

“Uhh, they have a really good chocolate cake, I’d recommend that. Or the lemon tart with whipped cream.” He manages to breathe out. Louis squeezes his hand slightly, standing a bit closer than he did earlier.

“Okay, I take the cake. What about teas, any good?”

“Yeah, raspberry tea.”

“Raspberry you say? I really don’t like those fruity ones..” Louis tells Harry, his head snapping to Louis’ face. Louis has his face towards the long line in front of them. A girl stares at Louis through the corner of her eye. Harry probably knows that it’s because of the dark glasses.

Harry tilts his head, looking the girl straight in the eye. She doesn’t notice it right away, but when she does, she turns her head away quickly, swallowing noticeably. Harry turns his eyes back to Louis, who stays oblivious to what just happened.

 

“How can you not like fruity teas?” Harry questions, the line moving forward. They are a few away from ordering.

“They aren’t just as nice as Yorkshire tea.” Louis shrugs his shoulders.

“Well they also have that too, so would you prefer that?” Harry raises his brows, a smile coming back to Louis’ lips.

“Yes please!” Louis announces, smiling wide.

 

They walk to the register, Harry ordering the lemon tart, Louis getting the chocolate cake. They both have tea, Harry getting the fruity one as Louis wants the tea to his liking. They go to have a seat, Louis sitting on a small couch and Harry on an arm chair. Harry helps Louis out of his coat and takes them to the clothing rack.

Louis stays to stand next to the couch, dragging his fingers against the plush burgundy fabric. Harry stands next to the jacket stand, keeping his eyes on Louis. It amazes Harry how Louis doesn’t need his sight to see his surroundings. He has everything else to get to know the place, to see things. Harry takes those few steps back to him.

 

“Do you need a hand?” Harry asks quietly, touching Louis’ arm. It’s just a slight press of his fingertips, but it startles Louis out of his thoughts. He takes in a breath, his face turning towards Harry.

He really wishes he could see Louis’ eyes, right at this moment. See what he looks like without the shield of the black lenses.

“Yeah.” Louis chuckles, Harry taking his hand and guiding him to sit down.

“Thank you.” Louis says quietly. Harry sits on his arm chair, pulling it a little closer towards the round table that is in front of them. He watches as Louis moves his hand next to him, his fingers gliding against a fluffy quilt.

 

“Is this a cat or something dead?” Louis wonders out loud, but keeping his voice down. Harry chuckles, Louis registering where he is sitting.

“It’s a blanket, not a dead cat if you were thinking about it.” Harry tells Louis, his eyes pouring out the feeling he is desperately trying to hold in. Harry is almost mesmerized by how much he feels towards the blind boy in front of him. He doesn’t even know him that well for god’s sake. This is their first date, Harry has touched his arm twice and he hasn’t found out the deepest secrets of Louis Tomlinson.

Louis laughs quietly, leaning his arm against the arm rest on his left. He looks towards Harry. The black lenses provide a mirror for Harry to see his own reflection. 

 

“So, what do you usually do on your dates? How do you woo your date?” Louis asks playfully.

“How do I woo people? I don’t usually have to do much.” Harry tells him honestly, the words sounding tacky as they leave his mouth.

“Cocky are we?” Louis quirks his brow up, leaning against the back of the small two seater. Harry laughs nervously, his voice quivering.

“Not cocky, no. I don’t really go out on dates.” Harry thinks his words wisely.

“Why not?”

“The people who are interested in going out with me usually want only one thing. And let me tell you, it’s not something long lasting.” Harry looks down to his lap.

“You are cocky. You have to admit that.” Louis smiles, his smile fond. He makes Harry chuckle towards his hands. That too damn it, Harry thinks.

 

“Tell me something about you. I guess you’ve never been out on a date with a blind guy?” Louis keeps on roasting. He seems to take the whole ‘blind’ thing very lightly, or at least it seems like it.

“Is it that obvious?” Harry chuckles, looking at Louis from under his brow. And then he remembers that Louis can’t see the serious bedroom eyes that Harry is trying to give him. So he relaxes his face and sits like he would normally sit. He bends his other leg and lifts it over his knee. He relaxes against the chair and focuses on Louis without any covers or magic tricks.

 

“Maybe.” Louis smirks, waiting for Harry to tell him more.

“What do you want to know, where do you want me to start?”

“Just something. Tell me something that everyone should not know about you.” Louis circles his hand in the air to emphasize his words.

“Not know about me? Why should I tell you something like that?” Harry furrows his brows, looking at Louis with curious eyes.

“Because then I’ll know your every secret.” Louis speaks like he would be reading a fairy tale to Harry.

“Well.. I’ve never been in love.” Harry says like it’s not a big deal.

“What?”

“I’ve never been in love.”

“How not?”

“I just haven’t. No one wants to get to know me, so I haven’t gotten to know them either.”

“But I bet this isn’t your first date or anything? Are you a virgin?” Louis asks straight forward, keeping his voice low.

“Isn’t that supposed to be kind of like the fifth date subject?” Harry blushes.

“Ooh well, why not get it over with.” Louis smiles.

“It’s not my first date and no, I’m not a virgin. I can’t believe we are talking about this.” Harry laughs and rubs his hand against his forehead, before he drags his fingers through his long curls.

 

“Have you been in love then?” Harry asks Louis, when he doesn’t come back at Harry with a snarky comment.

“I’m pretty sure I have.” He says, like he would be contemplating the meaning of life and death.

“You’re pretty sure?” A chuckle mixes in Harry’s question.

“Yeah, I mean, how could I know until I’m sure I’ve been in love.”

“I have no idea what you’re saying.” Harry tells Louis honestly, making Louis laugh. He covers his mouth with his hand, stifling the giggles.

 

They continue their date, question after question, answer after an answer. They get their drinks and sweets, savoring the tastes on their tongues. Louis tells Harry he has never had a better chocolate cake before, thanking him of the good recommendation.

“You have a bit of chocolate there.” Harry smiles, biting his lip.

“Where?” Louis asks, a clump of chocolate stuck on the corner of his lip.

“There.” Harry reaches forward, swiping it away with his index finger. Louis waits for Harry to get it cleaned from his face, to have Harry’s finger against his skin. He licks the spot with his tongue, Harry watching his actions. Harry tastes the chocolate from his finger tip while looking at Louis.

It’s so weird when Louis can’t see his flirty moves that Harry is trying to do even though he knows they aren’t the thing here. They aren’t important now. They aren’t the things Louis would be looking forward to or things that Louis would be thinking about after their date.

 

“I bet you just tasted your finger.” Louis says to Harry.

“How did you know?” Harry shakes from his thoughts, confused of Louis’ words.

“I guess you should know, that I still can see something even though I’m partly blind.” Louis tells calmly.

“What.. Do you mean, like how?”

“That I can see your figure, very faintly but I can see it. My world is like a shadow, full of different shades of the colors that you might see. It’s harder for me to see in places where there isn’t that much light, but I can see something. Like how there is a huge lamp on the ceiling. That’s about it. To see you sitting there in front of me is a struggle. It’s almost giving me a headache trying to see you, how you sit or what you might be doing. The more there is light, the more I can see.” Louis explains, dropping his face towards his hands. Harry watches Louis, how he crumbles.

 

“It’s a bit hard for me to think about.. Being with anyone when I can’t see them.” Louis confesses, quietly, clearly for only Harry’s ears.

“But you see something that others can’t.” Harry tells quickly, maybe a bit too quickly.

“What do you mean?”

“You see them as they are, not the shell that they are outside.” Harry says, smiling at his words. Louis doesn’t say anything, but tilts his head. He snorts, lifting his face towards Harry.

“That you are right about.” He finally says, turning them both quiet.

 

“What have you seen?” Harry asks, surprising himself that he actually said that aloud.

“What do you mean?”

“Like, what you’ve seen of.. Me?”

“Oooh, okay. Umm, I’ve seen that you are a bit taller than me and that you are lean. And that you have dark hair. That’s about it.” Louis smiles, it quickly fading away.

“Maybe you can add green eyes, a smile and dimples to that.” Harry tells him, trying to create a picture of himself to Louis.

“You have dimples?” Louis smiles.

“Guilty.” Harry lets his smirk shine through his voice.

“And curly hair.” Harry adds, just as a cat jumps on to Louis’ lap. It’s black, smooth furred, purring against Louis’ stomach. Louis startles from the sudden weight on his lap, laughing as he places his hands on the cat gently and finding its head to scratch the back of the animal’s ears.

“Awww, you got a new friend.” Harry says, chuckling as Louis lets the cat sit on his lap.

 

“Let me tell you. When you suggested this place to me, I was fairly sure that either you were joking or you were going to feed me to a bunch of lions.” Louis laughs, making Harry giggle.

“I’d never do that.”

“I believe you.” Louis sighs and leans against the back of the sofa, petting the cat on his lap.

 

“Can I ask you something about the, you know, blindness?” Harry stutters, afraid of Louis’ reaction.

“Go ahead.” He smiles, clearly on his toes about what Harry might be asking.

“Well I was just wondering how you might know somethings to be what they are? Like dimples, how do you know what they are, what they look on someone’s cheeks?” Harry knits his brows together, confused of his own question as well.

“I started to lose my sight when I was about seven. I was already almost completely blind when I was nine. So I’ve seen things, I know what dimples look like. I just haven’t seen them in a while.” He explains, sighing as the cat curls on Louis’ lap, making her home there. It closes her eyes, leaning her head against Louis’ hand that slowly strokes her fur. Harry watches his calm moves, smiling at the action.

 

\- - - -

 

Small raindrops land over Harry and Louis, as they walk in the dark. Louis has his hand draped around Harry’s arm, his wool scarf keeping him safe from the cold wind. The street lights illuminate the small water falls raining from the black sky. The red and orange and yellow leaves fall flat against the pavement, wet and indicating that they will soon be frozen and just dead souls of the trees.

Louis tugs Harry just a tad bit closer, shivering against his black wool coat.

“Are you really sure where my flat is?” Louis’ teeth clatter.

“I do, there’s not a long way anymore. Just a couple of blocks. I can already see the building.” Harry comforts, reaching his other hand to massage Louis’ arm. He nods against Harry, their steps synced in the cold autumn air.

 

Harry’s thoughts are a bit all over the place. The date went really well and is still going on really well. He feels warm and fuzzy, like someone would be cuddling him under a warm blanket. The moment he saw Louis in that art lesson, he knew that Louis was something special. That he is someone who could maybe listen to Harry, maybe think about him, maybe care about him.

Harry is clearly smitten, so clearly that he isn’t afraid to hide it. Not from Louis at least. Harry feels like Louis only needs to hear nice things and receive warm smiles. That he should be given everything on this planet. Maybe someone who could show him the wonders of this earth, of this life.

And Harry feels stupid thinking this way. He is so attracted to Louis, that he feels like Louis could be someone who could bring something constant in his life. That they could be a constant. Harry feels stupid for thinking about this on their first date. When he still doesn’t know Louis that well. But he feels like he knows Louis. And it’s scary. He feels like Louis could understand him, see him as he is, like him as he is.

 

Harry has had his fair share of good friends, a few boyfriends, some good shags, some good laughs, some good cuddles, some terrible heart breaks. Those people have all only seen Harry, the person he is outside. Just the hair, or the body or the smile or the eyes or the large hands with long fingers.

They have only seen Harry as he is outside, not what he is inside. Not the person who thinks and feels and wonders and appreciates the beautiful things, or listens to different sounds around him or sees the rays of sunshine casting from between tree branches or the rain falling against his apartment window.

They haven’t understood him, or the way he thinks. They have only seen Harry as he is on the outside and when they have grown bored of him, they have thrown Harry away like a used rag doll. But with Louis, Harry thinks he could actually be seen as the Harry he would like everyone else to see. And Harry is afraid that maybe he would just want to feel that even once in his life. To be heard and understood as Harry Styles, not as the Harry with the pleasant voice. Harry can’t read Louis’ mind, he doesn’t know what Louis thinks.

 

Harry is afraid that he will use Louis. And then Louis comes even closer, squeezing Harry’s arm in his hands, searching for trust and a safe place from the cold behind those dark glasses. When Harry looks next to him, his eyes training down to see Louis, he realizes that he could never use someone so beautiful as his tool to feel better about himself. That that is not the person Harry is. That Louis deserves better. That Harry could be that someone who could maybe give Louis that better. That Louis is a person too, not just a blind person, not just a beautiful creature.

Louis has feelings, thoughts, a voice and a gift. Harry will appreciate that. If they would become something more, he would appreciate Louis as he is, like Harry would want to be appreciated as he himself is. And that is what he decides, not to be afraid, not to over think. He might be infatuated with Louis, very much so, but he will not rush this. He wants to get to know Louis, he wants Louis to get to know him. He wants to be a constant with someone, not just a fling, not just a fleeting moment of different feelings.

 

Harry guides them in front of Louis’ building. Louis digs his keys from his pocket, Harry helping him up the stairs in the dark. They go in to the hallway, finding Louis and Niall’s door.

“I bet Niall isn’t home. He usually goes to parties or something when I don't need him to come pick me up.” Louis says quietly, clearly searching sounds from the inside. He sticks the key to the keyhole, turning it and opening the door. He is met with more darkness, no one greeting him back home.

 

“I had a great time Harry, thank you.” Louis turns to face him, already half inside the apartment. He smiles, his hair caught in the mist of autumn rain. Some strands fall on to his forehead, sticking against his skin, wet and defeated.

“Me too.” Harry smiles, keeping his distance.

“And thank you for walking with me.” Louis thanks, his smile growing calmer. A bit more tired.

“It was my pleasure.” Harry says, a layer of awkwardness settling over the men in the hallway. Louis is clearly waiting for something, something Harry is supposed to say, but might be too afraid to say.

“Well, thanks again. I’ll see you around.” Louis says, sighing. He starts to push the door closed between him and Harry.

 

“Louis?” Harry says abruptly.

“Yeah?” Louis opens the door again, his hand resting against the door frame.

“I was thinking if you’d maybe like to have more tea with me some time? Or dinner, or something?” Harry feels his heart racing in his ears.

“Yeah, I’d like that. I’d like that very much.” Louis starts smiling again, lighting something in Harry too.

“Okay, great! I’ll give you call later.” Harry smiles back, the warm and fuzzy feeling spreading inside of him again. Louis smiles, nodding. He bites his lower lip gently, Harry feeling a blush creeping up from his neck to his cheeks. Louis is driving him insane at this rate, that’s for sure.

 

“I’ll talk to you later.” Louis smiles, starting to close the door again.

“Don’t you need..” Harry presses his hand against the door, Louis unable to push it closed.

“Help?” Harry finishes.

“With what? In my home?” Louis peeks out from the door.

“Yeah?”

“No, I’ve really gotten used to where everything is. So no, I don’t.” Louis smiles.

“Good night Harry, I’ll talk to you later.” Louis says, before gently closing the door.

Harry stays to stand in the hallway for a bit longer, just listening to the quiet sounds from inside – the water running, a few steps, the knocking of Louis’ shoes against the wall when he probably threw them. And then it’s silent, Louis somewhere in the apartment, Harry out here on the other side of his door.  
And Harry smiles. He smiles so wide that it hurts his cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on tumblr: [sing-about-being-free](http://sing-about-being-free.tumblr.com/) (main) or [alltheselittlewritings](http://alltheselittlewritings.tumblr.com/). Come say hi or please leave a comment :)


	4. Chapter 4

Harry whirlwinds towards the studio. He tries not to bump into anyone on his way. He curves in to weird positions as he almost crashes to other students, but still manages to get past them with only a small touch to their arm or back. He sweeps to the last corridor, running the stairs down, his heart in his throat. He has exactly one minute left before he is late to their concert to the art students.

 

Since the first mini concert, the art professor wanted to continue the music in her classes. She said, that the music made some students create things that they have never before created. Things that show how much the music really affected their brain neurons to let loose and flow freely to become something beautiful. Things that might otherwise stay under wraps, hidden and only in the artist’s heads. As things that would be nice to create but they couldn’t do it. They need that last push to really express themselves, and apparently music is that last push. Which is good because now Harry doesn’t need to sit in a class and write about his passion.

 

He crashes through the wooden door in to the white room, people already ready to listen to the new set of songs. They are waiting, their paint brushes wet and pencils sharpened. Harry lifts his shoulder bag over his head, drops it next to the grand piano, digs out his notes and places them on the holder over the keys. He looks up to Lina, she looking at him amused. He nods at her, giving her permission to start.

“Hi you artistic people!” Lina tells to the class just as the clock hits nine o’clock. While she talks, she gives Harry time to organize his notes in to the right order, swipe the small beads of sweat off his forehead and take a long deep breath.

He adjusts his seat and straightens his back, rolling his shoulders a couple of times. He fixes his gaze on to the audience. People are clearly ready, some anticipating the music with their equipment ready, some are going through their phones, checking the last things before shutting them off to give themselves the opportunity to focus on their work.

 

And then Harry finds the one he was looking for. He sits by the windows, light streaming to the canvas in front of him. He has different shades of green and blue on the chair next to him, the ribbons telling him what the colors are. He has his face towards the windows, the late autumn light alighting his features. His dark tinted glasses shine, not showing his eyes.

Harry smiles, just a little as he turns his eyes to the keys in front of him. He places his fingers against the cool, smooth surface. He thinks for a bit, his eyes sparkling. A few notes leave the piano, like a hello to Louis, telling him that Harry is here.

Harry turns his gaze back to him. He finds Louis already peeking behind his canvas, a warm smile on his lips. It makes the heated embers in Harry burst in to flames. It’s not only his run from his flat to the gallery that is warming him, making him sweat. It’s the feeling of having Louis around, seeing him.

 

Lina tells the outline of their mini concert to the listeners, not distracting Harry’s flow of thoughts. He and Louis have been going out on dates, on a lot of dates. Their second date was Louis’ decision and he took Harry in to a French restaurant, where no one spoke English.

So they ordered whatever sounded good, when the words left Harry’s lips as he introduced the menu to Louis. He will never forget the moment when their orders came out. And that moment also revealed why the waiter had looked at them in horror. On a plate that came in front of them, came a full sized turkey with side salads and chips. They both had laughed so much that tears were streaming down their faces. And that was it. That date decided that they are going to go on a lot of dates in to the weirdest places.

 

They had gone to a park and ended in a boot camp workout lesson (while both of them had worn tight jeans). Harry had worn white jeans that weren’t white anymore after that date, more like the color of dirty grass.

They had been walking down a street and ended up in a flash mob to ask someone to marry their significant other.

They had also been to a toilet museum. Harry had laughed at the weirdest toilet seats, while Louis had kept quiet. He had traced his fingers against the artwork, feeling the cold surface of the porcelain. And then he had laughed, when he recognized the different shapes and forms the weirdest toilet seats had.

 

Harry smiles to himself, thinking back to the moments they've already had. And those dates have also decided that Harry is totally, completely, definitely gone for Louis. That he actually likes him too much to say that it’s liking anymore. And he hopes Louis feels the same way.

The only problem is that Harry can’t see Louis’ eyes, he can’t see what his soul says about this all.

Maybe he does feel the same way. At least that kiss, that happened a couple of days ago, could’ve told him so. Their first kiss, Harry thinks, cringing at the thought of how annoyingly nervous he gets by only thinking about the kiss. He wonders what he could be feeling after the things that are only to come.

Now already Harry wants to make Louis feel so good, he wants to give the world to him. And it’s the weirdest feeling in the entire universe, when he has never felt this way towards anyone else.

Sure he has wanted to sleep with people, he has been attracted to others. But he has never thought about making them feel so good, that they could forget their name. And now he wants to give his everything to Louis, and he wants to feel Louis. And it heats his insides so much that he feels like someone would be burning him. So odd.

 

He still tastes the way Louis’ lips tasted like cherry lollipop they had shared while they were sitting at the steps of an old library. He remembers how Louis had breathed against Harry’s lips, smiling and puffing air through his mouth and kissing and tasting sweet and curling his fingers in Harry’s hair and how he pressed closer. How he was so ridiculously close to Harry.

And it felt like Harry was complete. He didn’t care about the cold wind or the way his back ached against the stone steps. He didn’t think about the dishes waiting for him at home in the sink, or the books he should be studying for that psychology exam that is about music and how it affects people’s feelings. No, he didn’t think about those things, because he had Louis hugging him and kissing his lips and smiling. Softly he had traced the line of Harry’s cheeks, making Harry smile. He had pressed his fingertips in to Harry’s dimples, keeping his hands on his face.

 

“I want to memorize this.” Louis had whispered, smiling. He had kept his hands on Harry’s face, moving his fingers to test the skin under his eyes, asked Harry to close his eyes. And he did, to only feel Louis’ lips against the thin lids.

“One day I’m going to see those green eyes of yours.” Louis had promised, pressing his cheek to Harry’s cheek and hugged him. And Harry had hugged him back, thinking about Louis’ words. And he had felt so happy that he could’ve burst in to flames.

 

And even though Louis wouldn’t be next to him right at this moment or taking Harry’s hand in to his, or pressing his cool hand against Harry’s neck, Harry still gets that feeling like Louis would be there. Next to him. Keeping him company.

Harry looks back at Louis, who has moved to stare towards the windows again. His face is calm, his hands on his lap while he waits for Lina to finish her introduction. And she does, just after a few words.

Harry plays the piano to Louis, pouring his feelings in to the music he creates while Louis creates the most beautiful paintings in the whole entire world. Harry can already see how amazing the piece of art will be, even though he only sees the way his arm moves, his hand staying behind that canvas. He creates large circles, or at least that is what he thinks he is creating. Something big is forming on that white canvas of his.

 

\- -

 

The last notes of the last song echo in the hall. When it’s completely silent, the art students burst to applaud the band. The band bows to the listeners, Harry nodding his head in recognition. Everyone start to gather their things, the teacher making her way towards the band, and towards Harry to be exact.

“Hello, you must be Harry Styles?” The art professor asks, extending her hand towards Harry. He grabs it, squeezing it.

“Hi and yes, I am.” He smiles.

“I just wanted to come and tell you how beautifully you play, I can really feel your music.” She tells Harry, making him smile.

“Oh, thank you.”

“Have you played the piano for long?” She asks, crossing her arms loosely in front of her.

“I guess I’ve played it for about nine years.” He tells her, while taking his notes from the piano. Harry puts them together and taps the pile in his hands on the piano a couple of times, to even the pages.

“Not even that long! How is that even possible?” She questions, raising her brows at him. 

“Well, I also play the guitar. I started with that when I was four.” Harry smiles, putting the notes in to a green plastic folder neatly.

“Oh, well that is understandable.” She says, smiling softly.

 

“Do you study anything else?” She continues, when Harry doesn’t say anything to her remark.

“Psychology and sociology.” He says, lifting his shoulder bag from the floor. He puts it on the bench by the piano, checking he has his keys somewhere easy.

“Interesting choices. Have you ever thought about art?” She smiles, Harry finding out her intentions.

“Yeah, if I could hold a paint brush in my hand and really create something interesting other than stick figures.” He smiles, finding Louis walking towards them. The teacher laughs lively at Harry’s words when Louis walks next to her.

 

“Hi!” Louis says, keeping his distance to both of them. Louis is clearly unsure of where the teacher and Harry are standing. Harry moves a little closer to him, taking Louis’ hand in to his own.

“I’m really sorry, but we have to get going.” Harry nods at the professor, smiling professionally.

“Oh!” The professor looks between the boys, a wide smirk spreading to her already smiling lips.

“Yeah, we are going to the movies to see an Argentinian movie without subtitles.” Louis clarifies her, before Harry is already pulling him towards the doors. Harry smiles at the teacher, when she says her goodbyes.

 

Louis walks next to Harry, his arm pressed against Harry’s. He leans his head against Harry’s shoulder for just the briefest of moments, as a hello of his own. Harry smiles down at him. As he lifts his eyes towards their way out, he sees Lina eyeing them with the sweetest smile ever. She makes a puppy dog face, keeping her hand over her heart.  
Cute, she mouths, before turning back towards the students she was talking to. Harry smiles, hiding it in Louis’ hair.

 

\- - - -

 

“Our bus is coming.” Harry tells Louis, keeping Louis’ hand between his palm and chest.

“Will you help me up the stairs?” Louis whispers, keeping his head slotted in the crook of Harry’s neck.

“Of course I will,” Harry tells him, giving Louis a kiss on his cheek. Louis sighs, not wanting to move from his place. Harry guides them in the bus, the vehicle keeping a monstrous noise as it moves from the bus stop. They sit in the back, only a few others close to their seats. Louis sits next to the windows, Harry pressing his thigh against Louis’. Harry keeps Louis’ hands in his own, playing with his fingers without paying any attention to it.

He watches outside with Louis, who is hiding behind the dark glasses. Harry turns to watch Louis from the corner of his eye. His mouth is turned down, clearly something bothering him. Harry presses closer, his arm linking under Louis’ arm. He leans his head to Louis’ shoulder, making a smile twitch Louis’ soft lips upwards. But there is still that melancholy behind the movement. Harry breathes against the green of Louis’ coat, while looking back outside. And then he decides to give Louis at least a moment of sight. Harry moves his mouth closer to Louis’ ear, blowing warmth from between his lips to Louis’ sensitive skin. Louis raises his shoulders towards his ears to shield himself, a light giggle escaping his mouth.

“I’m your eyes today.” Harry whispers silently, a smile clear in his voice. Louis turns his face towards Harry, Harry’s lips pecking the corner of his mouth.

 

“A child is eating an ice cream cone. She is with a woman, who is walking a dog. There’s an old man looking at the dog, smiling like he would be remembering something from his younger days. A group of teenagers are rolling with skate boards from behind him, laughing and barely avoid hitting the old man. One of the girls stops and says something to the old man. He smiles and the girl is moving again.” Harry whispers in to Louis’ ear, making Louis smile with the image he is creating.

They stop in traffic lights, Louis’ hand in Harry’s. And then they move again. They both jerk forward as the motor keeps an almighty roar from underneath the seats. Louis smiles even wider, when Harry helps them both back on the seats to sit against the hard cushion.

 

“What else do you see?” Louis asks, as Harry softly drags his nose against Louis’ cheek. He turns his face towards the foggy window.

“A couple are looking something in the shopping window, it’s a jewellery shop. An old couple are waiting for a bus, they are standing side by side, the man holding the woman’s purse. A girl is smiling down to her phone before she presses it to her ear.” Harry’s story goes on as he sees the people on the street.

Some of them are happy, some of them are more melancholy. Louis’ smile falters at those moments, when Harry tells him about a woman sitting on a bench by the road and is hiding her face in her hands. Or about a young child, who is being dragged behind the parents, when they are laughing to the things they are telling only to each other. But then Harry lightens the mood again, seeing a young couple wrapped in their own world on the street, pressing kisses to their lips.

“You sure you’re not talking about us?” Louis asks, earning a giggle from Harry and a peck to his lips.

 

Harry sighs and fixes his posture against the seat. He turns his head just for a moment, noticing an old lady looking at his and Louis’ bus journey, the smallest of smiles etched to her face. She turns her eyes away when Harry catches her. Still Harry can feel the burn of her eyes at the back of his head, closely studying his and Louis’ actions.

She is looking at them, when he and Louis are preparing to get off from the bus. Harry stands up first, giving Louis a helping hand from his seat by the window. The bus keeps shaking forward, Harry grabbing the pole by the seats with his dear life. Louis can feel Harry struggling, sitting until the bus stops.

 

Harry helps Louis and walks him out by his waist, Louis smiling as they step on the curb. They start walking towards the movie theater, a happy stride in their walk.

“Hey! Hey!” Louis turns around, searching the sound with his ears. Harry turns with him, seeing the lady from the bus speed walking towards them.

“I’m sorry, but I think this is yours?” She takes Louis’ hand in to hers, pressing his grey, snowflake decorated mitten in to it. Louis is taken aback by the sudden touch, from the stranger in front of them. Harry gives him a small squeeze of his hand, looking back to the lady and the glove on Louis’ hand. Louis pulls his hand back from the woman, testing his pocket where his gloves are. He can only feel the other one, the missing one now in his hand.

 

“Thank you so much, we wouldn’t have noticed it missing before.” He says, smiling dashingly to the woman.

“Of course. And may I say, you make a lovely couple.” She smiles, before she turns around and leaves the boys speechless. Harry makes a nervous noise, the mix of a laugh and a sigh.

“Did you know the person?” Louis asks, when they start to walk again.

“No, but she kept looking at us in the bus.” Harry furrows his brow.

“Like she would be mad or what do you mean?”

“No, like she was smiling.” Harry looks back, seeing the woman on the bus stop again. She is looking at the couple, a smile still on her face. And it’s not creepy, not an intrusive smile. Just a knowing smile. And it warms Harry’s heart.

He looks down to Louis, who has his face towards the way they are going. And the warmth spreads, spreads and still spreads and oozes out from him. Harry closes his eyes for a heartbeat, wraps his arm around Louis’ shoulders and walks them in to the movies.

 

They sit in the back, where no one else is. Louis rests his head on Harry’s shoulder. Harry knows that this is a place, where he can’t see a thing. This is a place, where he is completely blind, completely dependent on Harry. And Harry keeps him close, keeps him safe, and promises himself to never let go.

The thought gives him great pleasure. But it’s also something that makes him fear the way he thinks. That maybe, this could be in fact love. And it’s the first time he is actually thinking about it, about the possibility to be in love. And it’s frightening. The thoughts hit him at once in the dark, when the movie begins. He shivers, everything blurring from the edges. Louis presses his hand to Harry’s chest, leaning deeper to his touch.

 

“Want to know what happens?” Harry whispers in to Louis’ ear, receiving a nod.

And Harry tells. He tells every little detail from the way the actor walks to the small butterfly that flies in the corner of the screen in the movie. He tells about the actress’ hair that flies in the air, black and untamed and natural. He tells Louis about the small boy that pouts and the way the lead actors look at each other when they are supposed to be in love. When they are only pretending.

Harry talks in whispers that tickle Louis’ ear, that make him giggle the tiniest sounds that Harry has ever heard. Louis wraps closer to Harry, his thigh pressed against Harry’s. And Harry feels warm, warmer, all the time even more filled up with the greater feelings he has for Louis and he would want to spill them to the world. But he doesn’t want to say these things out loud, at least not now, not yet, not never.

I can’t be in love, that’s what he thinks. And that weird feeling washes over him all over again, when Louis nuzzles his face against his neck. Harry feels Louis’ lips against his chin. And fuck, he might actually be in love.

 

\- - - -

 

Louis jingles his keys against Harry’s waist, when they kiss goodbye at his door.

“Thank you for the date. Sorry I couldn’t see the movie.” He says, a sad smile moving his lips against Harry’s.

“I loved our date just the way it was. With or without sight.” Harry sighs against Louis’ mouth, pulling Louis closer and hugging him tighter against his chest. When they finally let go of each other’s lips, Harry presses his cheek against Louis’. Harry hugs him, not wanting to let go, but also knowing it’s going to happen.

 

“Harry?” Louis asks quietly, just the tiniest sound in the world coming out from his mouth.

“Mmmhm?” Harry closes his eyes, cradling Louis in the hug.

“Want to come inside? I know Niall’s not in, so…” He stops, pulling away from Harry. Harry looks down at him, seeing only the black glasses.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” He says quietly, releasing the grip of his hands on Harry’s back.

 

“If you want me to come inside then I want to come inside.” Harry smiles. Suddenly the warmth and that overwhelming feeling isn’t the only thing that fills him. It’s also nervousness. Nervousness over Louis, of seeing what it’s like in his world, in his room. Nervousness over his own feelings, what might happen.

Louis smiles, dragging his hands up Harry’s back and down his arms. He tugs him along, opening the door after finding the key hole. He keeps Harry’s hand in his, bringing him inside.

 

It’s dark. The only source of light is coming from the street lights outside. It streams through the blinds, everything colored with orange stripes. Louis switches the lamps on, a warm dimness taking over the flat. It’s nice, really nice. Louis lets go of Harry’s hand and bends down to take off his shoes. Harry stands still, his eyes roaming the things he can see.

No carpets, clean surfaces, no plants. It’s white and clean and nice and simple. It’s a huge space, everything in the same room, except a dark corridor to somewhere, where Louis’ room has to be. But the things Harry can see are nothing like Louis. Louis is loud, creative, warm, everything but white surfaces, clean cut furniture and empty walls.

A huge tv-screen hangs on the wall, a comfortable sofa opposite from it. A table stands in the middle of the kitchen, four chairs around it. Louis stands up, looking at Harry’s way with a calm face. Harry can see him raising a brow, indicating him to move. Harry comes to life, forgetting the surroundings.

 

Harry takes off his boots and jacket, Louis snaking his arms from his coat. Harry gives him a hanger, helping Louis put the plastic shoulders in place to hold the jacket. Harry places their outwear on a clothing rack, turning towards Louis, who is waiting with his arm reached out for Harry. Louis eagerly squeezing Harry’s hand when he feels Harry’s palm against his own.

Harry’s feet don’t make any sound against the hard wood floor without his shoes. Louis leads Harry further in the apartment, moving slowly and waiting for Harry to follow him. It amazes Harry how Louis can avoid hitting the furniture on his way towards the dark corridor.

 

“How do you know where to walk? So you won’t hit anything.” Harry voices the question in his head aloud.

“After hitting my toe on the leg of the table too many times or sitting past the sofa, I’ve gotten to know where everything is.” Louis chuckles.

“And you know, living in the same place for almost two years now also helps.” He says. Harry smiles and walks behind Louis, close to him. Their fingers are tangled loosely, only the feeling is enough.

“I guess I could introduce you the living room and the kitchen. But I don’t really spend time here so I don’t think there’s much to see.” Louis tells Harry, when they come closer to the corridor and walk in to the darkness.

 

They walk past a couple of white doors, before Louis stops behind a third door. At the end of the corridor are stairs, leading somewhere up.

“What’s upstairs?” Harry wonders, looking at the empty, cold way up.

“My studio.” Louis says nonchalantly, laying his hand on the door handle. Harry looks back at him, surprise deep on his face.

“You have a studio?”

“Yeah.” Louis says lightly, his voice doesn't contain any deep thoughts. It might not be a big deal to him probably, but to Harry it’s a huge deal. A room full of Louis’ work. A place where all of Louis’ creativity sleeps and spills.

“Can I see it?” Harry asks hopeful, looking at Louis when he turns towards Harry.

“Maybe later. But not now.” He smiles shyly, opening the door to his room. More darkness. Until Louis flicks the lights on by the door. And it’s warm, it’s Louis. It’s colors.

 

Harry steps inside, forgetting Louis’ hand, letting go of it. He sees a quilt on the bed that is knitted and it’s blue. He sees a wide, soft bed, a light blue comforter covering it. He sees a picture on the wall, a happy family smiling back in a disorganized group. Harry walks more in to the room, towards a table under the window, where that same orange street light seeps in. The table is empty, only a pencil and a sketch book laid on top of the surface.

A dresser stands on the opposite wall of the bed, strings with small different beads hanging from the handles. So Louis could recognize what’s in every drawer. And then there’s Louis, who is sitting on his bed, putting on the bed side lamp that is on a bed side table. He puts his phone on it, finding the charger from around the leg of the lamp. He sighs deeply, standing up and coming to the drawer. He flicks another lamp on, next to a plant in a small pot. He lays his hands against the empty surface, his skin illuminating from the light.

 

“Harry?” He asks tentatively, almost like he would think Harry would’ve left.

“Yeah?” Harry walks to him from the desk, where he dragged his fingers against a drawn picture of lines and shapes.

“Want you next to me.” He whispers. Harry wraps his arms around Louis’ body from behind, pressing his chin to Louis’ shoulder and walking them to the bed. Louis holds his hands on Harry’s arms, letting go of them to sit down. Harry sits beside him, pressing his knee to Louis’ knee. Louis takes a deep breath, enclosing his hands around one of Harry’s hands. Harry comes a little closer, his breath fanning against Louis’ face. He gives a brush of his lips against the corner of Louis’ lips. Louis takes Harry’s other hand in his own too, breathing in Harry and his company.

 

He lifts Harry’s hands to his glasses, just lightly tapping them with Harry’s fingers. Harry pulls away slightly, looking at Louis nervously.

“You sure?” His voice shivers. This is kind of a big moment, seeing Louis’ eyes when they have been guarded by the black of the lenses this whole time they have been together. Louis nods, still keeping Harry’s hands on the glasses. And like it is a momentous thing, Harry takes a hold of the glasses, carefully dragging them down from Louis’ face.

 

Louis has his eyes closed. He has long lashes, dark and poetic and tickling the skin under his eyes, just above his cheeks. Harry places the glasses on the bed side table, coming back in to Louis’ space. Louis is clearly nervous, his brows pulled together. Louis searches for Harry's touch with his fingers, the tips hitting his thighs. Harry takes Louis' palms in to his, giving him time to breathe for a moment. He can feel Louis' fingers turning colder and his palms warmer.

Harry frees his other hand from Louis, softly brushing the line on Louis’ forehead, relaxing the small muscles under his skin. Louis breaths out a long breath, his shoulders losing the tension. Harry comes closer, until he can kiss the highest parts of Louis’ cheeks lightly.

Louis starts smiling, his eyes still closed, small wrinkles appearing by his eyes. Harry moves his lips to the crinkles, Louis bending his head just the slightest to give Harry more room.

 

“Louis?” Harry breathes, releasing his captured hand from Louis’ grip and lifting both of them on Louis’ cheeks. Harry looks at him with all of the attention he has in his body, wanting to see the eyes of his beautiful friend, Harry’s mind correcting it in to boyfriend, even though they haven’t had the talk yet.

Louis’ eyes flutter, not opening up wholly. He looks down, his long lashes trying to come terms with the movement. Slowly he raises his sight to Harry, blindsiding him with the power. With the beauty. With the blindness in them.

It’s like Harry would be looking over a frozen lake, seeing only the cold light sparkling blue that is the frozen ice under his feet. He’d be looking in to the distance, snow puffing up in the air with a light breeze, everything almost black and white but still a little blue.

That is what he sees in Louis’ eyes, a world of ice and cold and beauty of a winter day. Harry can’t get a word out from his mouth. Not a sound comes through while Louis’ eyes try to see him through the fog that is his sight. He is clearly trying to see Harry, reach him from under that ice.

 

“You’re beautiful.” Harry whispers, Louis’ cheeks heating and burning up under Harry’s palms. He smiles, not saying anything else, when he takes Harry’s hands back in to his. He closes his eyes again, before he pulls Harry against him, ghosting his lips against Harry’s. And the movement makes Harry’s heart beat crazy wild in his chest, his cheeks heating.

“You’re lying.” Louis whispers, before he brushes his lips against Harry’s.

“Nope, I could never lie about something like that.” Harry shakes his head, Louis’ hands stopping the movement. He keeps his hands flat on Harry’s flaming cheeks, his eyes open and searching Harry's eyes blindly.

“Are you blushing?” He asks, his eyes smiling with his mouth. The icy blue stays somewhere far away.

Harry gives out a struggled laugh, trying to search the eyes in front of him. And it pains Harry that they can’t see him. They are eyes that Harry so desperately wants to see him. That they are just empty, full of that ice. Harry lifts his hand to Louis’ face, the pads of his fingertips reaching Louis’ lower lashes gently.

The moment turns, it’s not filled with giggles anymore, not with the excitement of something new. It’s rather filled with sadness, with cold blue and numbness.

 

“What are you thinking?” Louis asks, Harry’s cheeks cooling under his palms.

“I’m not really sure.” He sighs, dropping his hand to rest on the comforter. He is half turned towards Louis, him already sitting cross legged.

“You are thinking about the blind thing, aren’t you?” Louis confirms, his voice not offended. It only states the things Louis can so clearly feel in the air. Harry’s quietness confirms his words, Louis casting his eyes towards his lap.

“It’s not that it would bother me. I’m just.. You have beautiful eyes, the most beautiful I’ve ever seen. And then I can’t stop thinking that when I’m looking at you, you can’t see me. I know I’m being selfish, but...”

“That’s just the truth.” Louis sighs, opening his eyes to Harry again.

 

“I already do see you.” Louis says, pulling Harry back closer. And it ignites the excitement in the air again. Louis leans back, Harry following. He ends up between Louis’ knees, Harry’s hands on either side of him. He stays there, neither of them moving.

Harry tries to find uncertainty from Louis’ features, tries to justify his sadness, but he can’t find any proof. He can’t find the counter parts to his depressed feelings. Louis’ face isn’t a mirror of Harry. His face is full of expectations, nerves and joy and it catches Harry.

He smiles, before he slowly dives in to touch his lips to Louis’ open ones. Louis takes Harry in with open arms, hugging him against his chest. He rubs his hands up and down Harry’s back, slowly relaxing him.

Harry breathes deep, closing his eyes. He can feel Louis’ long lashes fluttering against his cheek when he kisses Louis’ earlobe or the juncture to his jaw and neck. Louis keeps him close, his fingers finding the hem of Harry’s shirt. He finds the way under his shirt, his bare skin. Harry takes in a sharp breath, Louis’ fingers stopping.

 

“It tickles.” Harry whispers between his kisses, before he goes back down to kiss Louis’ neck. Louis giggles, holding his hands a bit tighter against Harry’s skin, his nails lightly dragging against his soft complexion. Harry’s head spins, his arms starting to shake. He lowers himself fully down against Louis, slowly his weight pushing Louis more in to the mattress.

Louis’ fingers grow hungrier, his thumbs leading the way for his hands to move against Harry’s stomach. He keeps his touch strong enough to avoid Harry from laughing and ending his sweet assault. He keeps his eyes closed, getting to know Harry’s body. He feels the warmth pulsing under Harry’s skin. How it heats his body. It makes Louis’ fingers drag against his skin with jolting movements. He feels the fluttering of Harry’s muscles, his breathing expanding his lungs in his rib cage.

 

“Take it off.” Harry whispers in to Louis’ ear. Louis’ heart beat thumps in his ears, his hands easily finding the way for Harry to get rid of the fabric on him. Harry’s muscles tighten in his legs, when he eases the hold on his arms and lifts himself on his knees. Louis follows his lead, sitting up and lifting Harry’s long sleeved shirt over his head. Louis feels Harry’s hair falling against his arm, when he loops his other hand in to Harry’s neck, his other hand throwing the shirt somewhere out of reach.

Louis leans back down, shirtless Harry following and his lips finding back against Louis’ neck. Louis keeps on touching Harry’s stomach, his hands moving up to his shoulders. They are broad, safe, protecting. They are round under Louis’ seeking hands. Harry is clearly no stranger to lifting weights. Louis’ hands travel to Harry’s biceps, squeezing the bulging muscle under his skin. It seems to over drive Harry, as he bites gently to Louis’ skin, making Louis whimper.

 

Harry rests his weight to his other arm, Louis’ legs cradling Harry between the thickness of them. Harry moves his hand from Louis shoulder, down his chest, towards his belly to the hem of his t-shirt. Louis gasps, as Harry’s fingertips start to walk against his skin, lifting the shirt higher. Harry detaches his lips from Louis’ lips, making him pout. Harry smiles down at him, making his way down towards Louis stomach, sitting on his knees between Louis’ knees.

Harry lifts Louis’ shirt just the slightest, kissing the revealed skin between the shirt and his jeans. He moves his lips upwards, sometimes only breathing against Louis’ skin, sometimes pressing his lips against the smooth skin, sometimes brushing them to move to the other side of his torso. His hands lift Louis’ shirt in slow motion, making him shiver against the fabric of the comforter. Louis rests his hands against the headboard, lifting his chin up, when Harry pulls the shirt off.

Harry comes to straddle Louis, his legs on either side of his body. Louis’ hands land on Harry’s sides, when Harry finds his way back to his lips, his kisses making a whispering sound. Louis’ hands move in their own will, finally squeezing the back of Harry’s thighs. They rub against Harry’s rough tight jeans. Harry pants in to Louis’ mouth, moving his hips in time with Louis’ touches. He moves down again, his thighs slowly abandoning Louis’ craving hands.

Harry admires the way his kisses make Louis’ skin rise with goose bumps, his breathing making him shiver. Louis digs his fingers in to Harry’s hair, gently pulling and massaging. He moans softly, Harry’s breathing fanning over the band of his jeans. Harry pops the button open, looking up at Louis. He has his eyes tightly shut, his mouth open. His lips glisten, his skin shudders. His legs shake just a tiny bit.

Harry can’t stop thinking that he is making this happen, he is the reason why Louis is unraveling. Harry concentrates back to kissing Louis’ stomach and opening his jeans. He hears Louis swallow thickly between breaths, his fingers trembling in his hair.

When Harry stops, Louis pulls the curls in his hands. He opens his eyes, aiming them towards Harry. And he smiles, dashingly, waiting for Harry’s next move. So Harry lands his lips against Louis’ hip bone, when he starts to pull his jeans down.

 

\- -

 

It’s all a bit surreal for Harry. Laying in a dark room. Room that he has never been in to, in the arms of a young man he is almost surely in love with, who Harry has known now for just over two months. Here he is, completely spent, tired and his eyes giving up to sleep. But the sleep never comes. It never drifts Harry’s thoughts away. His heart is in his chest, beating wildly, and his brain is working in over drive. And somehow it’s the most riveting feeling he has ever felt.

When he is sitting behind his piano or playing his guitar, he feels joy. When he is reading a great book, he might feel like he would be part of the plot. When he is listening to his favorite songs, his eyes might fill up with tears.

 

But now, he is feeling everything and nothing at the same time. He gets that same feeling of everything blurring from the edges in his eyes, even though he can only see the orange stripes filling the room, which settle through the window. He feels like he would be moving, thrashing against the mattress. He feels like he is in an amusement park, in a carousel spinning around in high speed. He feels going up in the air and then falling from the highest point.

Then he feels Louis’ arms cradling his naked body in his arms, keeping Harry still, making him find out that he in fact isn’t moving. And it might make Harry a bit crazy feeling this way. He feels like panicking and smiling and crying and singing and shouting and filling his lungs with water at the same time. But then there is Louis, his legs warm against Harry’s legs, every inch of his body somehow connected to Louis’ body.

 

And in the dark Harry really feels it, that this is it, this is how it does feel to be in love. Actually in love. Not like he would be watching a movie where people fall in love and live the rest of their lives happily ever after. Not that kind of love he has read in books, not the love that has a fairy tale ending.

This love that he feels is hard, scary and it takes his breath away. It takes away his breath in the best possible way, making him nervous, comfortable. It does weird things to his mind, to the way he thinks. Like he would be somehow smarter, like he would understand things better now, like he would be grounded and not fly up in some cloud castles. He feels like he could shine, show the way to some lost people who are still without the feeling of being in love.

Harry feels weird. And so in love. So he smiles, while he would want to sing from the top of his lungs like he would be in a musical and a dramatic plot twist would be coming his way. But he doesn’t sing. He doesn’t shout. He doesn’t panic.

He lays still. He moves backwards, Louis shifting in his sleep against Harry’s hot back. Harry takes a deep breath. This could be the longest night of his life, filled with pleasure and warmth and sex and feelings and sighs and mumbled curse words under their breaths and crazy laughs and losing his mind. And he loves every part of. He is really losing his mind, Harry is sure of it. But he can’t help it. This is his love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on tumblr: [sing-about-being-free](http://sing-about-being-free.tumblr.com/) (main) or [alltheselittlewritings](http://alltheselittlewritings.tumblr.com/). Come say hi or please leave a comment :)


	5. Chapter 5

Harry stretches his muscles in the empty bed. Light streams in. Last night’s warm darkness is replaced with a cloudy autumn bling, not like the orange lines that followed him and Louis inside last night. The room looks white, only those few colorful spots bringing life in to the cleanness.

He looks around, the duvet crumbled and the pillow close to falling off the bed next to Harry. Louis’ glasses are on the bed side table, untouched. Harry smiles to himself, Louis’ icy eyes flashing to his mind. When he closes his eyes, Harry can see them even clearer in his brain. He almost shivers, but encloses himself in the sheets, reaching for Louis’ pillow and breathes in the smell of him. Of Louis’ hair and that warm scent of his skin.

Harry takes a deep breath, rests the pillow next to him and sits on the edge. He searches for his pants from the floor and pulls them up. His muscles are stiff, like he would’ve ran a marathon last night. He sits back down, sleep still making his eyes feel heavy. Harry looks down at his hands, still feeling Louis’ hold, when they were keeping Harry down against the mattress. When Louis was taking support on his hands. The house is silent. Harry can hear silent padding of feet from the other side of the door.

 

Harry has to look for his shirt for a moment. It’s not in a clearly visible place and for a moment he is convinced that he didn’t have a shirt on when he came in to Louis’ room. But then he remembers Louis’ roaming hands and how he pulled the shirt off Harry. That is the moment when Harry lost the contact with the item. He searches under the bed and even looks up the walls, with no succession.

Harry drags his feet against the wooden floor when he walks to the window and starts to trace the line of the pencil markings drawn on the sketch book. The pencil is on the paper, a few new lines made on the page. They are soft, made with Louis’ sleepy hand. Harry smiles down at the drawn lines, his eyes moving down on to the chair under the table.

A familiar edge of fabric reveals itself, when Harry pulls the chair towards himself. How did it end up here, Harry thinks to himself when he pulls it over his head and on his shoulders. The shirt feels soft, the dark red fabric lightly tracing the lines of his body.

 

He steps out of Louis’ room tentatively, his feet hitting the cool surface of the wood. It’s like there wouldn’t even be anyone, it’s so quiet. Harry walks down the hallway in to the living room, no one standing nowhere.

Louis isn’t there making any morning tea, Niall isn’t there with his loud booming laugh. Harry really is alone. His body relaxes, his mood turning down with the realization of being left alone. Maybe Louis would want Harry to leave? Maybe that’s why he wasn’t there to say good morning to him?

 

“Morning Harry!” Niall’s voice scares him, making Harry whip his head around to see Niall’s smiling face walking towards him from the hall.

“Did I scare you?” He laughs, patting Harry’s back, when he walks past him and to the fridge.

“A bit.” Harry breathes, laughing nervously.

“Is uhhh.. Is Louis here?”

“Yeah, he is in the studio. He said to come wake you up but it’s good that you are already awake. Tea?” Niall smiles, a carton of milk in his hand. He opens a cupboard taking out a packet of tea.

“Sure.” Harry doesn’t know what to say. He stands awkwardly in the middle of the room, not knowing if he is in the living room or if he is in the kitchen. So Louis has been up for a moment already, he left Harry alone to be in his studio.

“You’ve been up for a long time?” Harry finally manages to wake from his jumbled thoughts. He walks to Niall, standing next to him and watching as he takes out three mugs, spoons and a white teapot.

“Honey?” Niall asks Harry, when his hand falters next to the honey jar. Harry shakes his head, leaning against the surface of the counter.

 

“Louis was very inspired this morning.” Niall says, when they wait for the water boiler to heat the liquid.

“Who knows why.” He tilts his head to Harry, winking his eye and smiling knowingly.

“Oh.” Harry feels his cheeks burning. He turns his eyes towards the hall, wishing that Niall wouldn’t be so obvious with his hints. Niall is a nice person, really friendly and he is like a packet deal with Louis.

Of course he is, because they live in the same apartment, they are roommates and they are best friends. And Harry really enjoys Niall’s company. They haven’t really spent any time together though, which does make Harry a bit uncomfortable. He really isn’t keen talking about his sex life or his and Louis’ sex life with Niall, so he wishes Niall would just drop the subject.

“Good that I came home late last night. So you had the apartment all to yourself and you didn’t have to watch out for making too much noise or anything.” Niall says warm heartedly. Harry thinks he might be actually in flames right now, burning next to Niall and his words. He gives a choked cough, swallowing thickly. He doesn’t say anything anymore, his tongue lost in his embarrassment.

 

Niall pours the hot water in the teapot, adding in the tea.

“Could you bring the mugs and the milk?” Niall asks, unbothered by the awkward silence Harry is feeling all around them.

“Mmhmm.” Harry lets out the weakest of sounds in his whole entire life. Niall takes the tea, Harry following him like a puppy. They walk in to the hall, up the stairs and behind a single room.

Niall knocks it with his elbow, a light rustling following Niall’s call. The door opens, just a swoop of Louis’ hair is visible from behind it, when he is already gone somewhere. Bright light fills the air. Niall steps in first, Harry following close behind.

“Where do we set our breakfast?” Niall asks stopping still, blocking Harry from coming in through the doorway. Harry has to watch out to not crash to Niall.

“Somewhere away from the clean canvas.” Harry hears Louis say, his voice soft. Niall starts walking again, the light in the room swallowing him behind the door. Harry peeks in. His eyes have to get used to the brightness.

 

The studio is enormous. The entire wall on the other side is covered in windows, looking over rooftops. He can see the skyline of the city. On the other wall opposite the door is a white canvas, tightly attached to the wall. Harry can’t see how it’s on the wall, but there it is, ready for paint. On the floor under it are old newspapers, spread to cover the floor. There are also a couple of painting stands, but no unfinished paintings drying on them.

Harry turns around, closing the door with his arm. It clicks softly. Harry’s eyes find Louis on his knees on the floor, mixing some paint. He moves his hand slowly in circles and eights, a wooden stick dipped in the cans. Niall sits down a bit further away from Louis, putting the tea pot on the floor. Next to him are painted art works, colorful and full of life. Like Louis. They are magnificent.

 

“You can bring the mugs and milk here.” Niall says to Harry, encouraging him to come forward. Louis lifts his eyes first to Niall, then they start to look for Harry. They are even lighter in the bright room. Harry walks quickly to Niall, setting everything on the floor from his hands. Niall starts to pour himself tea, Harry abandoning him. He goes to Louis, who still has his eyes lifted, looking for Harry.

“Morning Louis.” Harry kneels on the floor next to him. Harry’s hand brushes Louis’ thigh, his eyes snapping to Harry.

A smile spreads to Louis’ lips, a bright pink color covering his cheeks. He looks sweet and cuddly and soft and in Harry’s eyes hazy. He feels that warm feeling spreading again, making everything turn blurry from the edges. But Louis stays sharp, like he was a diamond in a dark cave, wanting to be found.

 

“Did you sleep well?” Louis asks softly, his eyes glinting in the light, his body relaxing. His hair is messy, clearly not brushed after last night. Well, Harry’s hair is as messy as Louis’, his curls bouncy and tangled. It’s not like a crow’s nest, more like it would be styled that way.

Harry smiles at Louis, his hand reaching for Louis’ cheek. He brushes it once from Louis’ temple to his jaw. Louis leans to the touch, his eyes fluttering shut, his smile spreading wider. He reminds Harry of a cat, who purrs against Harry’s touch.

“I did.” Harry sighs, his hand falling back to Louis’ thigh.

“What are you doing?” Harry asks, ripping his eyes away from Louis’ face and looking down to the cans in front of Louis. Red, white, blue and yellow paint are waiting to be mixed, when Louis is already mixing the green one. Every can has their own mixing sticks that rest on the rims.

“I want to paint today.” Louis smiles, his fingers finding the green and starting to mix it again. It circles slowly in the container, a hypnotic sight for Harry’s eyes.

 

“Come on you two love birds! Get here and let’s drink some tea!” Niall hollers from his spot in the corner, when Harry and Louis are watching the paint circle in the pot. Well, Harry isn’t sure what Louis is able to see of the paint, maybe a faint shadow of where it is.

“Shut up Niall!” Louis says a bit louder, laugh filling his lungs. His hand drops the stick in his hand and lets it sink in the paint can, the tip standing against the edge. Louis takes Harry’s hand from his thigh, his fingers travelling up his arm and to Harry’s shoulder, finding support to stand up. Harry follows him up and gives Louis a hand so Harry can lead the way to Niall and the tea.

 

They sit in a small circle, Harry pouring Louis and himself tea in the mugs. Louis drinks his without milk, Harry mixing in a bit and stirring it with a spoon Niall hands him.

“So, are you an official couple now?” Niall asks. He eyes the two from behind his mug. Harry’s cheeks heat up again. His other leg is straight, towards Louis, his other leg bent. He touches Louis’ hip with his toes, like in a wordless conversation.

The question has been in his mind too. They haven’t talked about being boyfriends, even though they act very boyfriend-y. They walk hand in hand in public and they are always sharing kisses and whispers when they go somewhere. Harry keeps mum, waiting for Louis to give the answer. And he actually hopes that he wouldn’t say anything, when they haven’t talked about the details of their relationship with each other. If Louis is going to say that they are a couple, it’s more than fine with Harry. But if he is going to say something in the lines of “we’ll see” or something else just as vague, it might feel like a slap to Harry’s face.

 

Louis looks Harry’s way, he stays just as silent as Harry.

“Oh, you haven’t talked about it yet?” Niall’s eyes bulge slightly from his head, his mouth grimacing. He hides it with drinking his tea, casting his eyes to the floor.

“Oh Niall-boy, you are so innocent.” Louis tilts his head towards Niall, making him laugh. Louis looks back at Harry’s way, smiling shyly. Harry nudges his foot against Louis’ leg, smiling down to his tea cup. Niall gulps his tea down loudly, clinking the mug against the floor a couple of times.

“Well, I think this is my queue to leave you two to it then. Have fun, whatever you might do.” Niall says, standing up and taking his cup with him.

 

“Where you going?” Louis asks, a bit unsure of where to look. He clearly sees Niall standing, his eyes darting upwards, but he is fumbling with where to look exactly. Harry sees the movement of his eyes, trying to see Niall, trying to locate his face, trying to see his surroundings. But when that doesn’t happen, Louis’ face drops, his eyes sad, his shoulders grow a depressed demeanor.

“I’m going out, some friends asked me to go somewhere with them.” Niall’s smiley voice tells Louis, calming him.

“And I think you have someone here to take care of you.” Niall adds, stepping from their little circle and to the door.

“Have fun!” He turns to Louis and looks Harry in the eyes. Niall is a fun man, his eyes never stop smiling, his features light and his voice jolly. Harry smiles back at him, giving him a small wave. Niall’s eyes turn towards Louis, his smile like light in the dark.

“Bye my Irish leprechaun.” Louis says, before Niall is out of the door. He closes the door after him, leaving Harry and Louis alone.

 

“And then there was two.” Harry says, his voice nothing but a sigh. Louis smiles at him, his eyes towards the floor. He puts his mug on the floor, standing up. Harry looks up at him, watching Louis’ small body walking forward with wobbly steps. His t-shirt swallows him, his sweats clinging to his legs.

Louis tests the surface of the floor with his sock covered foot. When it bumps against Harry’s leg, he steps over it. Harry straightens his both legs out, tapping his thigh against Louis other foot. Louis smiles, reaching forward.

Harry gives Louis his hands, helping Louis sit down on to his lap. Louis moves his hands to Harry’s shoulders and up to his neck. He kisses Harry’s lips lightly, making Harry smile. Harry’s hands find home on Louis’ waist, making small circles on to the t-shirt.

Louis keeps his eyes downwards, even though Harry would want to see them. He lifts Louis’ chin upwards, making him look Harry in the eyes. Louis sighs, keeping his sight somewhere else other than towards Harry’s close face.

 

“Don’t be ashamed.” Harry whispers.

“How do you know if I’m ashamed?” Louis counters back. It’s not an angry remark, but it fills the air with doubt.

“Because you would be looking at me.” Harry tells Louis, lacing his words with gentle warmth. It makes Louis move his eyes to Harry slowly, uncertainty clear in them. Harry brushes Louis fringe to the side with his fingers, blowing away a loose eyelash on Louis’ cheek.

“Can you see me?” Harry keeps his voice down. The moment is nice, made to be unbreakable.

“Some things.” Louis twirls Harry’s curls on the back of his neck in his fingers.

“Like?”

“I can see that you are very close. And that your hair is very big and dark.” Louis smiles, making Harry follow suit. Harry presses his forehead to Louis’ chin, moving his hands to Louis’ back and hugging him gently. Louis’ legs hug his body, his hands tangling in Harry’s hair and massaging his scalp.

 

“Do you want to help me paint?” Louis asks, separating from Harry’s long lasting arms. Harry looks up at him, raising his brows.

“Well I’m no artist like you. I’m not sure if I can even hold a paintbrush in my hand.” Harry laughs, his hands drifting to Louis’ lower back, feeling the round shape of Louis’ ass cheeks.

“It doesn’t matter, we’ll just paint.” Louis smiles, lifting up on his feet. He abandons Harry on his place, walking next to the wall and searching for the paint cans. He moves slowly, keeping his hand against the wall. He bends down just in time to touch the rim of the blue paint can. He lifts it up, his hand searching for another color. Harry stands up and almost jogs to Louis’ side, giving him another paint.

“Thanks.” Louis says and goes to the wall, where that canvas falls against the surface. Harry brings the rest of the cans, setting them next to the others, which Louis put down under the canvas.

 

“What do you want me to paint?” Harry asks, Louis handing him a brush.

“Whatever comes to your mind.” Louis smiles, dipping his brush in to the green paint. He splashes it against the canvas, dragging out a wavy line. Harry looks at the movement Louis’ hand makes, the graciousness in his view. Harry takes a bit of the blue paint in his brush, watching how the tips of the bristles take color.

 

“Harry?” Louis asks, in the middle of painting a green ocean wave. Or then it is a tail of a dragon.

“Hmm?” Harry makes a tentative move on the canvas, the blue sticking to the thick paper. He starts to make another shape, but he is already out of paint, so he dips his paintbrush more daringly in to the color. 

“Do you think we should talk?” Louis’ voice wavers. Harry’s heart picks up its pace, his breath hitching in his throat. He knows what is coming. The dreaded ‘where we are in this relationship’- talk.

“Maybe we should.” He manages to say.

“Umm, so..” Louis paints a long line from a foamy shape, the paint running out.

“I really like you Harry, I really do.. And I’d really like to be something, you know, more with you?” His voice rises, the sentence turning in to an ask.

 

“Yeah?” Harry’s eyes end up looking at Louis, his voice hopeful.

“Yeah, I’d like to officially be something with you.” Louis is clearly avoiding the whole boyfriend\- word. His cheeks are red with blotches of blush. Harry smiles, sticking his paintbrush towards Louis, the tip gently hitting Louis’ cheek. A streak of blue contrasts the red under his skin.

“Heeey!” He smiles.

“Are we boyfriends now?” Harry drags out the word, stepping closer to Louis. He places the paintbrush on one of the cans. Louis starts to giggle, when Harry’s hands snake around his waist and he bends down to rest his forehead against Louis’ shoulder.

“We are boyfriends.” Louis laughs, wrapping his arms around Harry. Harry moves his head so he can touch his lips against Louis’ jaw. He breathes in Louis, dragging his cheek against Louis’ blue streaked skin, his hungry lips finally finding Louis’ lips and attacking them. They both smile, their teeth hitting together a couple of times.

The kiss takes a more sweeter note, Louis sighing against Harry’s lips. Harry pecks Louis’ mouth a few more times, the last kiss landing on Louis’ forehead. He lets go, picking up his paintbrush again. Louis smiles, going back to his green work. Harry takes the blue paint can in his hands, gently dipping the bristles in the color. He moves a bit further away from Louis, watching him work with admiration before he lets his paintbrush touch the canvas.

 

With gentle strokes, he starts to paint notes on to the canvas. The notes of one of his favorite song. He listens the song in his head, while he lets the markings fly on to the white backdrop. He paints down only a few notes, the notes he thinks about when he might be around Louis or when he thinks about Louis. He smiles at the blue notes, his chest swelling with the warm feeling. He looks at Louis, who has taken the white paint in his hand, making a generous line with it next to the green lines and a bit over it.

Harry looks back at the notes he has scribbled, feeling his hand take more paint on to the brush. He moves it to the canvas, letting his hand move with ease, with at least half the same graciousness Louis has in his artistic hands. Harry sees the letters forming, the word in his body being made in front of his eyes.

 

LOVE. That is what the canvas screams in blue paint in front of Harry’s own eyes. It’s calm and aggressive at the same time. It’s nice to see it somewhere, answering Harry’s feelings, saying it back. But it’s not Louis saying the word back to him, Louis can’t even see the word. He doesn’t know, even though Harry is silently screaming it out loud.

 

“Boyfriend.” Harry sighs, placing the paint on the floor, washing the brush in a glass jar next to the cans. The edges of Louis’ mouth turn upwards, his hand never stops moving against the white surface he is painting to.

Harry walks behind him, wrapping his arms around Louis. He leans his chin to Louis’ shoulder, watching the way Louis makes art. He looks to the right, seeing his own few lines with the paint. The notes and the LOVE. It’s the first time Harry has made such a clear sign of his love towards someone. And that special someone can’t even see it.

It’s almost pathetic how much Harry feels, but can’t say anything. His whole body screams LOVE, making Harry ache, close his eyes and sigh. So he only swallows, kisses the smooth skin under Louis’ ear and watches him make his own bold statements on the white canvas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on tumblr: [sing-about-being-free](http://sing-about-being-free.tumblr.com/) (main) or [alltheselittlewritings](http://alltheselittlewritings.tumblr.com/). Come say hi or please leave a comment :)


	6. Chapter 6

Endless dates. Endless nights. Endless calls. Endless touches. Endless whispers. Endless laughter. Endless conversations. Endless arms. Endless hugs. Endless kisses. Endless cuddles. Endless breathing. Endless moans. Endless. Smooth fingertips. Smooth lips. Smooth hair. Smooth sheets. Smooth clothes. Smooth canvases. Smooth. Soft sadness. Soft sighs. Soft feet. Soft words. Soft. Silent. Dragged conversations. Dragged laughter. Dragged jokes. Dragged hurt. Dragged feelings. Dragged silence. Deep silence.

 

Love.

 

“Do you want me to come with you?” Harry asks next to Louis, who bounces his foot against the grey carpet at the doctor’s office. Harry holds his hand, Louis’ hand not  
recognizing the touch. The glasses are back on, but Harry can see the angry expression on his face, he can feel the exasperation oozing out of Louis.

“If you want to.” Louis sighs. His foot stops, but only for a beat, picking up the pace when he continues the nervous tapping.

“I’m letting you decide.” Harry says smiling, tilting his head towards Louis.

“I don’t care.” Louis’ lets the cold answer flow from his lips. Harry sighs, his head rolling away from Louis. He lets go of Louis’ hand, pulling it on his lap and squeezing his fingers together.

 

They sit in silence, like there was a wall between them. A wall that can’t be broken, something bullet and bomb and explosion proof. They sit in the quiet hallway, Louis’ presence somewhere else, Harry thinking about everything else other than Louis. It has become his favorite past time. Keeping his mind busy in the middle of Louis’ thunder storms. It’s ridiculous even, that he'd want to be somewhere else, far away. Somewhere, where Louis could actually care about Harry. Where it could be like it was.

They have their moments. Of course they do. They’ve been together for over three months now. And Harry has been happy, he really has. But he can’t help but think, why isn’t Louis happy? He was happy, at least that’s what Harry likes to think. But he isn’t happy anymore. It’s so clear in the way he talks to Harry now. It’s so clear when he doesn’t answer Harry always. It’s so clear when Harry would want to cuddle but Louis leaves his arms cold.

Harry is scared. He is scared that he is going to lose it all. Because that is what it feels like. Like he would’ve already lost. He has lost. In every way. Louis isn’t there anymore. And it’s so clear that Louis would want to be anywhere else than with Harry every time they are together these days.  
But here they are. Separated by an invisible wall that can’t be broken.

 

Love.

 

“Louis Tomlinson?” The doctor calls, her door down the hall. Louis stands, his feet shaky as he takes the first step. He stops, just in front of Harry, bowing his head down in defeat. Harry sighs and takes Louis’ hand in his before he even stands up and takes them to the doctor’s office.

She keeps the door open for the couple, Louis walking in first. Harry pulls a chair out for him in front of the doctors neat desk, every little paper, pen and equipment in symmetrical line with the surface. Nothing's out of order, it’s too organized, too clean.

Louis sits down, Harry next to him and the doctor behind her desk, clasping her hands together.

“So, Louis, how has it been going? Have you noticed any changes?” She asks. Harry reads the label on her jacket: ‘Dr. Mandy Boyle’. Harry looks up to her face, her expression official and cold, only a slight glint of understanding and warmth deep in her eyes.

 

“I.. Don’t think that I’ve noticed anything special.” Louis sighs, his face towards his hands. Harry sits close enough to brush his knuckles to Louis’ knee. Louis relaxes by the familiar touch, but his nervous fingers don’t stop rubbing against each other.

“The last tests we did showed us that there isn’t any change to your situation.” Doctor Boyle says. Her words are like a ton of bricks, hitting hard and crashing on to the walls and floor. Louis lifts his head towards her, his nervous twitching ending.

 

“So, why did I have to come here? If there isn’t any change, why didn’t you only call?” Louis furrows his brows behind his glasses.

“Even though the surgery will be a routine procedure, we have to push it back.” She says the words, Louis freezing in his chair.

“We have a lot more urgent cases, than yours. I’m so sorry.” She says, tilting her head. Harry stares at her, waiting for Louis’ reaction. Mandy lets some of her sympathy spill from her eyes, quickly letting her gaze slip from Louis to Harry. Her mouth is in a tight line and she twists it downwards.

 

“When will I have the surgery then?” Louis’ voice is thick and raspy. Like he would’ve been woken up from a long nap.

“Later this year. Hopefully before Christmas.” She says, her guards coming back up. Louis takes a deep breath. Harry eyes him from the corner of his eye, seeing how Louis bites his teeth hard together.

“I’m really sorry.” She says.

“Sorry isn’t really going to fix anything, will it? I was supposed to go in to the surgery next month!” Louis’ voice rises, his hands starting to shake lightly. Harry keeps his knuckles against Louis’ knee, even though Louis starts to tap his heel against the floor.

 

“It is unfortunate, but because you are not in urgent danger of losing your sight completely, we have a bit more time with your case.” Boyle tries to console Louis. He grips the arm rests on his chair, his fingertips turning white.

“Like I wouldn’t already be blind!” Louis shouts, his body shuddering. He stands up, the chair scraping the floor and falling over. Louis storms out, his arm hitting the doorframe. Harry looks after him, not really knowing what to do. Of course Louis is upset, he has been so upset lately. Every day he is upset. Maybe he saw this coming. That he will not get in to the surgery yet.

 

“Excuse me.” Harry says discreetly, standing up and rushing after Louis. He runs down to the hall, not having to look for too long. Louis stands in front of a glass wall, his hands trying to find the door handle.

“Louis?”

“Don’t! Not right now Harry!” He yells, his voice full of hatred, strain, weariness. 

“It’s not longer than a couple of months Louis. It’ll go quickly.” Harry tries to keep his voice even, soothing. He walks closer to Louis, his hand finding Louis’ shoulder.

“I said not right now!” Louis turns around, pushing Harry’s hand away. Harry steps back, taken aback by Louis’ animosity. His hands try to find the door handle, his shoulders shaking. Harry steps back to his side, taking Louis’ hand in his and guiding it to the door.

Louis doesn’t say anything, only pushes himself out of the doctor’s office and leaves Harry standing behind a real glass barrier between them. Louis walks somewhere behind the corner. He should have the time to figure this out, calm down. He can do this, Harry has fate in him. So Harry waits for a few minutes, before he walks out to see how Louis is.

 

Love.

 

But Louis is nowhere to be found. Louis is gone. And Harry is left alone.

 

\- - - -

 

Harry’s food is laying cold on his plate. He forks it around the white surface while Harry rests his chin against his palm. The fork makes the most annoying sounds against the plate, high and ear aching. How did it end here, Harry thinks. How did I end up alone, again.

He hasn’t heard from Louis after his burst earlier at the doctor’s. Apparently Niall picked him up, that’s what Niall said when Harry texted him. Harry is almost completely sure that Niall knows about the problems him and Louis have. Or whatever they are going through. Niall knows about it.

Harry doesn’t even know what is going on. He doesn’t know what went wrong. Did he do something? Did he hurt Louis in some way? It’s only speculation because Louis hasn’t said why he is so angry all the time. Or if it even is because of Harry. Maybe it’s because of something else. Harry just doesn’t know.

 

Love.

 

Harry’s eyes are fixed on one spot in front of him. There is a small splatter of tomato sauce stuck on the white kitchen wall. It’s something that can’t be really seen if you don’t know about it. Harry abandons his food, gets a rag by the sink and starts to rub the wall clean.

It doesn’t take long from him to wipe it away, leaving the wall spotless and perfectly white. He sighs, looking at the plate on the small dining table. The roof lamp hangs low over the table, gleaming white, cold light over the space. His place is cold, lifeless. Like his insides. How did it all go wrong?

Harry takes the plate full of food in to the fridge, shuts every light off and drags his feet in to his bedroom. He checks his phone that lays on his bed. Nothing.

 

It’s not even nine in the evening, when Harry is already ready to go to bed. He takes off his clothes and wraps himself in the duvet. It’s cool, the just changed sheets rough against his skin. Harry thinks about falling asleep and how everything may be better tomorrow. That the next day he will go and see Louis and they will figure everything out.

When Harry thinks he might be falling asleep, he realizes that he hasn’t even shut his eyes.

 

The burning feeling of his journal ticks in his chest. It’s on the bed side table, quiet and yearning for words. He knows where the pen is – it’s on top of the journal. And it’s waiting to be uncapped. But Harry won’t give up, he will sleep and get everything figured out tomorrow.

 

\- -

 

After hours of rolling in his bed, Harry does uncap the pen and open the journal from the page where the last markings are. There is a movie ticket between the pages. Harry’s hand writing decorates the top of the left page. ‘Movie night with Louis’ it says simply.

It was a very artistic movie, black and white and it was about a person walking through a city. That was it. Someone was walking through city streets, the camera following the person. No words were said, only looks were exchanged and people passing by. It was the perfect movie for their date, it gave Harry enough time to explain everything that was going on on the screen.

After that evening, Louis started to become distant. That was their last real date. After that Harry has only been to Louis’ and Niall’s place. Their dates have only been Harry and Louis eating or lying in bed listening to music or having sex while said music was playing.

And it feels cold. While Harry picks up the ticket, it feels heavy, like a memory of something that once was his happiness.

 

Love.  
That is what Harry writes under the previous notion. He has accepted his love for Louis. And that he can’t say it out loud. Maybe not ever, because they might be falling from a cliff and never find a way to fly back up. So he only writes the word and thinks about it. But never says it out loud.

Harry sets the journal back on the table, under the light, places the pen on top of the book and puts the light off. He shuffles back under the duvet, closing his eyes for real this time. But it gets too dark. Too scary. So he keeps his eyes open.

The only thing he sees are branches wavering behind his window in the raging wind. The branches are leafless, bare and dancing in the autumn storm. They are bright, illuminated by the street lights. And yet the tree looks scary. Like hands that are trying to reach Harry from the other side of that window. Maybe they're trying to call Harry to come out and dance with them. But Harry only tucks himself more under the blankets and keeps his head buried in the pillow.

 

Harry doesn’t know how much time has passed, when his phone starts to ring on the bed side table. Harry’s brain reacts in an instant, his limbs staying paralyzed. Slowly he moves, rolling on to his other side. He reaches his lifeless hand towards the ringer.

Louis, it says. On the upper bar it says that it’s almost 1 am. Harry stares at the screen, his heart frozen in his chest.

“Hello?” Harry answers, his heart firing up and beating like a hummingbird nestled in his chest.

“Can I come over?” Sounds Louis’ faint voice.

“Here?” Harry pulls his brows together, while he moves to lean against the mattress with his elbow.

“Yeah, Niall will drive me there. Just text me the address.” He says, sounding tired.

“Okay.” Harry says, his mind alert.

“I’ll see you in a bit.” Louis says, before he hangs up the call. Harry stares at the screen dumbfounded. He texts the address to Louis and sets his phone back on the table. He doesn’t know what do next. Louis will be at his place, for the first time ever, in about 15 minutes.

 

Love.

 

Hastily Harry gets up from his bed, leaves it unmade and puts on a t-shirt and some sweats. He walks around his small apartment, from his bedroom in to the living room and to the kitchen, putting on lights. And then he realizes that maybe he will not need lights in his kitchen. So he shuts them off again, only leaving on some lights in the living room. He sits down on to his couch, not knowing how to sit comfortably or still. So he twists and changes his position, twitching and tapping the cushion next to his leg.

A knock, twice lightly tapped against Harry’s door makes him go crazy. Harry drags air in through his teeth, stands up and makes his way to the door. He looks through the eye and sees only Louis standing there, in a dark grey beanie and his usual glasses.

Harry opens the door, Louis looking straight forward. He is in comfortable clothes, all black and warm and his chin is covered by a black scarf.

 

Love.

 

“Can I come in?” He asks, when Harry doesn’t say anything. Harry takes Louis’ hand in to his, pulling him gently inside.

“This is Harry, right?” Louis asks, his voice shaking. Harry smirks, taking Louis against his chest and revealing his face from under the scarf with gentle fingers. He brushes his lips against Louis’ mouth, before he seals their mouths together. Louis’ lips curve upwards, his hands finding home on Harry’s waist.

“Definitely Harry. I like the taste of your toothpaste.” Louis smiles, pecking Harry’s lips.

“What are you doing here?” Harry asks, when he starts to unwrap Louis from his coat and scarf and hat and gloves. He bends down to take off his shoes, Louis placing his hand on Harry’s shoulder to lean against it.

“I.. I want to apologize. I was a jerk earlier. After the appointment at the doctor’s office. I’m sorry Harry.” Louis breathes. Harry stands back up, taking Louis’ hands in to his.

“Thank you.” He says, warmth swelling in his chest and starting to spread to his cold limbs. Louis smiles, moving his hands to hug Harry tightly.

 

Love.

 

“So, this is your place?” Louis says, getting away from Harry’s embrace.

“Mmhmm, I can show you around.” Harry tells, a clear smile in his voice. Louis starts to smile at that, their hands entwining.

“This is the living room.” Harry walks Louis around it with his back towards the way they are going. He guides Louis’ hand against the different surfaces, against the back of the dark, soft couch, against the small tables where pictures and some flower pots are positioned. He guides Louis’ fingers against the keys of his keyboard, his fingers slowly lining the edges. Harry turns the lights off as they keep on walking, leaving only darkness after them.

“Don’t you have a kitchen?” Louis asks, furrowing his brows behind his glasses.

“I do, but I guess I can show it to you tomorrow?” Harry suggests, his slow steps leading Louis in to the bedroom.

“That’s reasonable.” Louis smirks, following Harry.

 

“This is the bedroom.” Harry says, slowing his pace.

“So this is where the magic happens.” Louis’ voice is playful.

“Oh please, any magic hasn’t been happening here in a while.” Harry snorts.

“Not even when you’re alone?” Louis’ brows shoot up.

“I haven’t really been spending that much time here after I started to sleep at your place.” Harry laughs, his fingers reaching to Louis’ wrist. Louis smiles, happily being yanked against Harry.

“Well would you look at that.” He giggles, wrapping his arms around Harry and linking his hands behind Harry’s back.

“We are going towards your bed?” Louis asks, tilting his head. And just at that moment, the backs of Harry’s knees hit the edge of the mattress. He falls backwards, Louis crashing on top of him, a muffled sound pulled from both of their lungs with silent laughter. Harry’s hands travel against Louis’ sides. He breathes out a contented sigh, Louis burying his lips against Harry’s, melting in his arms.

 

Love.

 

“Are we in the foot of your bed?” Louis asks, his other hand reaching out to touch around them.

“More in the middle I suppose.” Harry looks around the bed, trying to measure the distances. He also knows that Louis wants them to be right way in the bed, in the middle, their heads and feet in the right direction.

Clumsily Harry lifts Louis from his chest and moves them to lay on the bed correctly. Louis settles back on to Harry’s lap, his knees on either side of his body. Harry has his hands on Louis’ thighs, but they keep traveling up to feel Louis’ ass.

“You know me so well.” Louis whispers, kissing Harry’s lips and grinding against Harry. He hums happily when Harry’s hands find the perfect spot on his bum. Louis has his fingers in Harry’s curls, twisting and pulling them, earning happy grunts from Harry’s mouth in to his own.

 

Louis moves his lips to touch Harry’s face, his fingers finding his features. And before Harry knows it, it’s only Louis’ fingers that are giving his face kisses. Harry opens his eyes and looks up to see Louis, still his glasses on. Harry reaches up and takes them off. It’s still a like a victory for Harry to actually see Louis’ eyes. In the warm light of his bed side lamp, they still manage to be piercing and the lightest blue he has ever seen anything to be.

Louis’ eyes are focused, his fingers finding the crease between Harry’s brows and the fine lines on his forehead. Gently he moves his fingertips against the thin skin under his eyes. He traces the lines of his lips, Harry giving a kiss on to the finger. Louis smiles but it fades quickly when he keeps on getting to know Harry’s face and more importantly his brows.

Louis bows down, giving a kiss to both of them. He moves down, kisses the corner of Harry’s lips, then his chin and his neck. He nibbles on Harry’s skin, the touch so light that Harry starts to smile. But oddly, it doesn’t tickle, it’s more sexual than he thought it to be. So he closes his eyes and let’s Louis do whatever he wants to do to Harry’s body.

 

Love.

 

“I like how you react to my touch.” Louis says at one point, his fingertips touching Harry’s abs and chest. Harry breathes in deep between his panting. Louis keeps his hands flat against Harry’s front, slowly riding towards the tingling, burning desire.

“Yeah?” Harry breathes out, his voice only a groan.

“Yeah. Your muscles are talking to me. Telling me what you like.” Louis says softly, a moan escaping from his lips.

 

Love.

 

Louis’ hands travel against Harry’s skin, his palms hot and moist, the movement not as smooth when his hands are cool and dry. Just at that moment, Harry’s skin shivers, sending vibrations through his muscles. His lower stomach burns with pleasure as Louis slowly works through their lust.

 

Love.

 

Louis’ long fringe has flopped on to his forehead, the ends curling lightly. Harry reaches up and pushes the hair from Louis’ warm forehead, which glistens with small beads of sweat. The room is filled with light noise, their breathing and moans and bodies making a mixture of sounds. Harry closes his eyes, his hands squeezing Louis’ thighs which only encourages him to go more excruciatingly slow.

 

Love.

 

Louis has draped his arm and leg over Harry’s body, sweat not able to dry between their attached skins. Harry’s hand rubs Louis’ scalp in slow circles. His hair is soft, the skin underneath a little damp.

Harry feels the sleep finally making a nest in his eyes and in his mind. His body feels heavy, like he would be filled with rocks. He moves his head to rest it against the top of Louis’ head. He closes his eyes and as he finally floats in to the dreams of cold blue lakes and reveries and snowy mornings, his hand flattens against Louis’ head, some strands of Louis’ hair between Harry’s fingers.

 

Love.

 

\- - - -

 

Crash.

Harry’s mind alerts to the sound of something crashing on to the floor. His eyes flutter open, but they are too tired to stay open. He is sprawled on the bed like a starfish on a beach. He is on his stomach, his face away from all the noise.

 

“Fucking..” Harry can hear the soft muttering turning in to puffs of air blown from lungs. Harry’s head relaxes against his pillow, the softness enveloping half of his face in to the warmth of sleep that still wants to crawl in to his head.

 

Crash.

“For fucks sake!” Harry hears louder. He is already opening his mouth, his eyes still tightly shut, to say something in the lines of ‘Can’t I get a good night’s sleep here’. Until his eyes shoot open, meeting a dark shirt that has been carelessly thrown on the chair in the corner of the room.

His muscles gather all the heat in his body, making his skin tingle with fresh sweat. His heart beats rapidly, his mind racing. Harry turns his eyes to see the other side of the bed, meeting only a crumbled pile of duvet and an empty pillow. Harry’s hand tests the space Louis has slept, the spot turning colder, freezing as more time passes. Harry’s eyes drift to the nightstand, Louis’ glasses folded next to the lamp.

“Shit…” Harry hears next, the word so softly said that he starts to wonder if he really heard it or not. He doesn’t stay in bed to wonder the things he might hear. Harry shakes the sleep from his eyes and gets up, finding his briefs from the floor.

 

“Louis?” He calls, the noises from Harry’s living room silencing. Harry walks out in to the hall, where the door to the bathroom is, passes it and finds his way in to the living room. When he steps out and sees Louis, he finds the sight he wasn’t expecting.

A broken vase lays on the floor, shattered. A picture of him and his sister in a frame, shattered. A chair knocked over. And lastly Louis, who is wearing his pants the wrong way round. His hair is a mess, his fringe flown over his head. He stands leaning to his right, not like he normally stands.

“You okay?” Harry walks to him, avoiding the glass shards and lifting the chair back up.

 

“You should’ve showed me your kitchen yesterday.” Louis frowns. Harry steps in front of him, taking Louis’ hands in to his own. He smiles and moves his fingers against Louis’ palms, the creases on his right hand gathering something from Louis’ hand. He looks down finding the something to be red, blood red, blood.

“How did..? You’re bleeding.” Harry wonders, quietly, maybe to himself. He turns Louis’ palm over, a long but shallow cut in the side of his hand.

“How did this happen?” Harry asks, walking Louis in to the kitchen. His eyes move to Louis’ feet, when he wobbles forward.

“I tried to gather the shards from the floor.” He says blankly, his eyes frozen in the wall. Like he would be staring right through Harry. Finding every little flaw and mistake and unsaid word from him.

 

Love.

 

“What has happened to your foot?” Harry inspects, sitting Louis on the chair where Harry never sits. Harry kneels down, lifting Louis’ foot to see why he can’t walk normally.

“I guess I stepped on some glass or something.” Louis sighs, his hands on his lap. Harry turns his foot to see the bottom, finding a shard stuck in the middle of his heel. Harry cringes, the bottom of Louis’ foot clean, but the cut extremely red, like the glass would’ve been angry at Louis and it would’ve sunken a tooth in to his flesh.

“Can you see anything?” Louis asks, his voice breaking. Harry looks up, seeing how tense Louis is. Like he would be getting more and more far away by the second. His skin glows blue in the early morning light, cold and frozen. Like his eyes. Harry stares for a while, knowing that Louis doesn’t know that. That this moment will stay with only Harry. Something is different.

“Umm, yeah, there’s a piece of glass in your heel. I’ll pull it off. Just sit here and don’t move. I have to get some bandage and antiseptic.” Harry gets to his feet, his hands slightly shaking. Louis doesn’t answer him, only stays in his seat and waits for Harry to get back.

 

Love.

 

Harry closes the cabinet door, meeting his own face over the wash basin in the bathroom. He looks happy, but tired. Mainly tired. Drained even. The equipment in his hands weigh like a ton, his heart already somewhere else. Harry tries to smile to his reflection, the attempt staying empty, his eyes dull.

He walks out and avoids the broken glass in the living room. Louis sits in the chair, unmoving. Just like Harry left him. Harry kneels back in front of him, setting down the bandage and some paper that he thought would become necessary.

“Does it hurt?” Harry’s voice wavers out of his mouth. He takes Louis’ ankle in his hand, twisting it just the slightest so he can spray the wound with the antiseptic.

“Doesn’t hurt, just stings.” Louis’ small voice answers. Harry looks back up at Louis, his eyes already towards Harry. And they are sad. So full of sadness that Harry can’t take it. So he directs his eyes back to Louis’ heel, taking a piece of paper in his hand. With a swift movement, he pulls the shard out. Louis grips his thighs, smearing blood from his hand on his bare skin. Harry sets the bloody glass on the floor, the cut fortunately not too deep. Harry disinfects Louis’ foot and puts a band aid on the cut.

 

He moves to take care of Louis’ hand, still feeling Louis’ eyes on him.

“Harry, I think we should talk.” Louis says cautiously.

“Are you going to break up with me?” Harry chuckles. His mouth said the words before he could even register what he would be saying. Regret takes over him.  
Especially when Louis casts his eyes towards the floor, not saying a word. Harry wraps another band aid on Louis’ palm, dropping his hand next to the other on Louis’ lap.  
Harry takes a step backwards, Louis still silent.

“Is this you saying that you are breaking up with me?” Harry asks out loud, hurt settling in his chest and organs.

 

“I thought that maybe we should start with a break first.” Louis’ unsure words float in to the air between them and stay there suffocating the breathable air. Harry stares at Louis, unblinking, his mouth hanging open. His blood starts to boil under his skin. The piece of glass on the floor makes him want to ram it back to Louis’ foot.

“Start with a break? So that’s like the first step. What will the next one be? Friends with benefits? Just something casual so you don’t have to spend any more time with me other than what is necessary? Then some calls, maybe a few rescheduled times so you can arrange your art with your sex life? And then the break up? Is that how it goes?” Harry’s words mix together, his brain picking out lines that have been shaded with exhaustion and anger.

“No, no that’s not what I meant.” Louis sighs. He closes his eyes, Harry can tell by the way his lashes flutter against Louis’ cheeks.

 

“What did you mean then? Why?”

“Because we can never work.” Louis says bluntly, finally lifting his eyes towards Harry. And the barrier between them is back up. This time it’s made out of bricks, things that you can’t look through.

“What do you mean we can never work? We’ve been working for the past three months!” Harry can’t help when his voice rises.

“I mean, that I don’t want you to fall for me.” Louis cold voice, his words, are different kinds of shards that hit straight through Harry’s chest.

 

Love.

 

“What?”

“I know what you had written on the painting. And I don’t want that.”

Harry loses all the words he has ever known and what he has ever known how to say. A blind man and a mute man fighting in the mute man’s kitchen. How romantic.

“Since…” Harry starts.

“A couple of weeks ago when Niall told me about it.” Louis doesn’t even need to say much more before Harry speaks.

“So you don’t.. Feel anything, nothing even related to that?”

“No because I don’t want to.”

“Why not?” Harry’s eyes burn. He would want to make the ponds in Louis’ eyes turn to summer, forget the freezing temperature and make everything happy and living again. But he can’t.

“Because we can’t work.” And that is the only thing that Louis says, before Harry leaves the room to get Louis’ clothes. He brings them to Louis, lays them on his lap in a neat pile. He unfolds Louis’ glasses and presses them on to Louis’ eyes, covering the cold and winter.

 

“I’ll call Niall. So we won’t be wasting our time anymore.” Harry manages to keep his voice even. This time Louis’ inability to see becomes handy. Harry can hide his true self in something manufactured. He can shield himself. Because it hurts.

“So are we breaking up now?” Louis’ voice stops Harry’ in his tracks, who is already leaving so he doesn’t have to look at Louis anymore.

“Yeah.” Harry’s tired voice answers, not bothering to put up a fight. Or realize that Louis might be hurt too. But he isn’t. That’s the deal. Louis isn’t even sorry. He is only thinking about himself.

 

When Louis has dressed up, Harry walks him to the door and lets him stand there, not pushing him out. Harry stands with him, his shoulders weighed down by the feeling of losing Louis. Because even if he is still standing next to Harry, he has already lost Louis. The same Louis isn’t there anymore.

The cold of Louis’ eyes has made the whole person in to an ice statue. He’s able to move and produce words. But they melt before anything becomes real. The movements Louis would want to do don’t happen. The words he might want to say are not said.

When Niall comes, Louis opens the door, takes Niall’s hand in to his and closes the door after him. Like he would’ve never even been here, in Harry’s place. Like they wouldn’t have spent their last night together in Harry’s apartment. Like Harry wouldn’t need anything more than ‘we can’t work’ or even a good bye. It hurts.

 

Harry stands still in the silent apartment, his mind blank, his heart silent. He stares at the door for way too long until he moves to clean the glass from the floor. He picks up the bigger shards, carries them to trash and then sweeps the smaller shards away.

The picture of him with his sister isn’t completely in pieces. Some of the glass has bravely stayed intact in the frame. There he is, Harry, who has never been in love, with his sister. And he hopes he could still be that same young man as he was in that picture. Because now it hurts.

 

Love.

Shattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on tumblr: [sing-about-being-free](http://sing-about-being-free.tumblr.com/) (main) or [alltheselittlewritings](http://alltheselittlewritings.tumblr.com/). Come say hi or please leave a comment :)


	7. Chapter 7

Daytime, the light drifts across the room. Night time, the shadows of the streetlights drift across the room. Day, night, night and day. Mixed together they lose the meaning of time, the real world somewhere passing by and leaving Harry behind.

But it’s not like Harry would be sitting at home, no, not at all. He goes on with his life, avoiding everything that might remind him of Louis. He gets his teas and coffees from the same place he used to and he sits in lectures doing the things he always did before Louis. 

He sits in the park with the school band and they create new playlists to play for the art students. It makes Harry’s smile turn tight, his palms sweaty and his mind racing with worst case scenarios.

 

The evenings are worse. The silence of his apartment hurts his ears. There is no one talking to him, not even by texts or phone calls. Harry has nowhere to go when usually he was spending his evenings at Louis’. But not anymore.

He is forced to stay between four walls, not talking to anyone else other than maybe his sister or his mother. Harry feels so defeated, being alone with his feelings towards someone who doesn’t want him the same way as Harry was investing his feelings towards that person. And it aches his every limb in his body. Like he would’ve failed in some test that his life decided to throw his way.

 

Harry tries to drown the silence in to playing the piano. It always starts beautifully, mellow. And then there is a turning point, when Harry’s fingers turn stiff from the images in his head. Those frozen eyes haunt him like he would be running away from a predator but he would be paralyzed and waiting for his death like a trapped rabbit.

His mind plays tricks on him, creating whispers in the silence. Single words saying Harry’s name or laughing. And Harry’s skin rises with goose bumps, like someone would drag their fingers against his skin.

 

The nights are the worst. Harry lays in bed, his body relaxed and ready to sleep. But he hears things that shouldn’t be there. Almost like he would be dreaming with his eyes open. And that is what it also feels like. Harry is between sleep and being awake, and it creates the weirdest hallucinations for him to fall completely asleep with.

The sounds of Louis’ whispers against Harry’s neck, like he would be sitting on Harry’s lap. Or the moments when Harry feels his skin prickle with heat and then realizing that he is indeed alone. Or the smooth breaths against his whole body, not leaving any spots without attention. 

And then there are the softest moans and those are the sounds that always wake Harry completely up. And every time he needs something real, just something next to him or over him or under him. Just something. And it always ends up in Harry pleasuring himself, images of Louis’ perfect body in his mind.

 

\- -

 

Harry sits behind his piano, dark circles under his eyes, but his mind’s alert and his stomach twists and turns. The familiar light studio is filling up with students. They take out their pencils and paints and brushes and sketches. Harry plays the keys silently, only the higher notes. His fingers fly softly against the smooth surface, pressing down and lifting up. And his mind races, not finding a calm path to settle.

The rest of the band walk in, laughter filling the air. Lina walks to the microphone, setting her bag down next to her chair. She looks at Harry, her eyes filling with sadness, her smile softening. She offers Harry a wave, him answering and smiling back.

He really tries to move on, to be himself again. But he never imagined that recovering from love could be this hard. So he tries but fails, and Lina sees it. She still smiles but empathy is filling her eyes and it disgusts Harry how easily he is letting himself be this weak.

 

Harry had always thought that love would only be a state of mind. That if you were in love, you would also get rid of it. That it wouldn’t be such a big deal like someone had written about it in love novels or how it was depicted in movies. He always thought that if you fell in love, you could also fall out of love. And it would be easy, it would happen with just a snap of the fingers. That it would be like ripping off a band aid.

But now? Now Harry thinks that he was wrong all along. He didn’t prepare himself for the consuming feeling, like there would be a wolf eating his flesh down to the bones and core of his being. 

He didn’t prepare himself to be eaten alive by love, that it would be so selfish and happy and sad and ecstatic. He wasn’t prepared to be left feeling like he would’ve been hit by a truck a million times. Like there would be a flame inside of him, burning him and making him frozen at the same time.

And then the memories. Love left him with memories that seem like dreams. Love made him create plans for something that would happen in the future and then love rips all those hopes up, laughs at Harry’s face and turns its back to him. Love made him feel like a fool.

 

“Hello everyone! We guess you know the drill, we play some music and you can do your art assignments. Enjoy!” Lina announces to the students. Harry looks at them, the people behind their canvases ready. They are waiting for the first notes that will set their minds free from their shackles.

There’s someone missing. And Harry sees it so clearly, like there would be a spotlight beaming towards the empty chair and easel. No paint bottles with ribbons. No paint brushes. No canvas. No Louis. And it hurts. 

It rips Harry apart. But he has to keep on going despite that physical pain that he is feeling. He grits his teeth together, his jaw hurts. This would’ve been the first time Harry saw Louis after their break up. And Louis isn’t there. Harry feels like it’s his fault. That he has taken art away from Louis. Like Louis took away love from Harry. He ruined it for Harry.

 

It doesn’t mean that Harry wouldn’t believe in love, because now he only realizes what love really is. And he wants to use it, at least the ghosts of it. He wants to become stronger by the things that are now making him weaker. What a cliché, Harry thinks. Maybe he believes in that ‘what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger’ now too.

But the deal is, that Louis isn’t there and Harry was trying to prepare himself for it. Maybe it’s good that Louis didn’t come. It could’ve made Harry go either completely crazy. Or then it would’ve paralyzed him. Who knows. 

Louis didn’t come, Harry didn’t have to go with the worst case scenarios what could’ve happened. But somewhere deep down, Harry still wanted to see Louis, just a glimpse of him. He wanted to see if something had changed. He would’ve wanted to be in pain. He would’ve wanted to feel the fire igniting more fiercely.

Now he has to endure with the dull little flame he has burning in his guts. And it’s annoying. It leaves everything bland and black and white and dull and so blank, that Harry doesn’t know how to work his way out of the feeling. Even the piano keys don’t seem to have the answers for Harry, no matter how much he would play them or not. He just doesn’t get over or around the pain he has in his whole body.

 

Little does Harry know that he wouldn’t see Louis in a long time. Not on those art lessons he is playing at. Not in the school hallways. Not on the streets walking. Not in that cat café. Harry does know that Louis is still out there somewhere. But he is doing a great job at avoiding Harry at all costs.

Now the only thing Harry can accept is that he has been in love. And he doesn’t want to feel it ever again.

 

\- - - - 

 

“So you’ve been dating for how long?” Harry yells over the music when Lina sits next to him in the crowded bar. She is all dolled up, so much so that Harry has a hard time recognizing her. Especially after a few drinks. And it was actually a mistake to come out. He just wanted a drink. 

And then he happened to meet Lina and her new boyfriend, Eric. They took Harry with them, even though Harry knew that he was interfering their date. So he has been feeling a little left out, sitting alone and sipping down strong drinks to make the flashing multi colored lights blur in his eyes.

 

“Just a few weeks.” She smiles and looks out fondly towards the man who is getting her and him drinks.

“What about you, any new men in your life?” Lina asks Harry, leaning to his shoulder to make her voice heard. Harry tilts his head, rolling his eyes to her.

“Are you serious? No one after..” Lina’s wide eyes stare deeply at Harry.

“Don’t say his name.” Harry lifts his hand up before Lina can say Louis’ name. 

Harry has noticed that when his ex’s name isn’t said all the time, it’s a bit easier to start forgetting him. It’s an odd feeling to just give up on feeling so strongly towards someone, but he is managing. At least he has managed for the past nine weeks.

 

“Have you even seen him after you broke up?” Lina’s brows are shot high.

“Nope, he has stayed completely missing.” Harry shrugs, drinking from the glass in his hand.

“Okay, well then we need to find you some company!” Lina announces, smacking her palms to her bare thighs that her short shorts don’t cover.

“No, no, no, no.” Harry shakes his head, downing half of his drink in to his mouth.

“You have to get some action!” Lina stands up, starting to move her hips to the music. Her eyes roam the bar, trying to look for people who could be Harry’s type. Little does she know, that Harry already had a type, but he lost it.

 

Someone catches her eye, making her movements halt. She flashes a grin to Harry before she is already moving towards someone. Harry strains his neck to see who she is approaching but he loses her behind a wall of people. He doesn’t want anything in his life. Not right now.

Harry closes his eyes tightly, finishing the alcohol in his glass. The liquid burns in his mouth, warming his body when it goes down to his stomach. Harry’s eyes flutter open, finding Lina and some man standing in front of him. 

They all stare at each other for a while, before Lina starts moving towards Harry. It’s oddly slow, which makes Harry look down to his hands. Everything is in slow motion. Greatness drunkenness, Harry thinks.

 

“Harry, this is Connor.” She sing songs. Harry’s eyes lift from his hands to Lina, registering what she said. Connor? Connor… Connor! Harry’s eyes fly to the man, a very beautiful man. Lina smiles when Harry can’t take his eyes off from the man she found.

“I’ll be at the bar.” She whispers to Harry’s ear, standing and giving Connor a hint to come sit next to Harry.

 

“Hi.” The man says. His very dark hair and thick eyelashes mesmerize Harry, his lean body sitting comfortably next to Harry.

“Hey.” Harry’s voice slurs.

“I guess you’ve had a couple of drinks?” He smiles. A very handsome, masculine smile.

“Just a few.” The smile catches to Harry, the lights glimmering in his eyes and blurring everything from around Connor. Such a handsome man. Good job Lina, Harry would already want to thank her.

 

And there Harry goes, with his drunk mind and hazy thoughts and broken heart. Connor makes him forget everything. He makes Harry flirt and be the person he was before those frozen eyes and revealing who he really was. Harry can be whoever he wants to be again, not revealing too much, not saying things he doesn’t want to. He can have all the barriers up and still play along.

Connor touches Harry’s arm, his thigh, moving his hand down Harry’s back. And maybe there is also some hand play on the inside of Harry’s thigh. The main thing is that Connor is close, he is smiling and hypnotizing and beautiful and Harry doesn’t have to feel a thing. 

It’s also good that he is drunk. Connor makes him want to be drunk, extremely drunk. So Connor orders drinks, watches Harry drown them in his body and giggle to Connor’s neck. And Connor makes his moves. They are so blatant that even blind people could see them.

Blind people, Harry shakes the thought about the frozen lake eyes from his mind and loosens up even more. He smells the scent of Connor’s after shave, his black button up making Harry want to rip it open. Connor has his hand traveling down to the hem of Harry’s shirt and moves it to his skin on Harry’s back. His touch is fiery, making Harry want only one thing. And it burns and it aches and it’s weirdly dull.

Harry wants to lose all the control in his body, but he feels so empty. It could be the alcohol, at least Harry wants it to be the alcohol. He isn’t going to be wasting his time on dull feelings or the fact that his skin isn’t reacting with goose bumps to Connor’s touch. 

So Harry drags him to the dance floor. He makes himself clear of what he is after and Connor answers with his hands that are everywhere. The problem is, Harry can’t get the thought out of his mind that this is all wrong.

 

Still, Harry sticks his tongue down Connor’s throat and he isn’t stopping Harry. Maybe it’s not all so wrong. Maybe Harry just thinks it’s wrong. No, it’s not wrong. How could it be? It’s not like Harry would be cheating! So Harry kisses Connor some more, so much that his lips start to burn. And everything feels so so wrong. But nothing is stopping Harry, Connor is only encouraging him to keep on going. So Harry does.

Until he notices, he is sticking his tongue down Connor’s throat in a taxi and then he is pushed against a wall, a door opens and Connor walks him in somewhere. Harry has no idea where he is and if he actually should even be here. But he is, so there is nothing to do. 

Well other than go forward with the plan. And his plan is.. That there is no plan. He just wants to be the person he once was before the ruin. Before all the feelings and exposing him in every way. He just needs to forget and Connor is the perfect person to forget everything with.

 

Harry lets Connor lead him in to his bedroom. He lets Connor push Harry on the bed face down. He lets Connor rip his shirt open, pull it off Harry and toss it on the floor. He lets Connor kiss his back with wet lips. 

And it all hurts and it’s all almost like Connor would be stabbing Harry’s insides. Even in his hazy mind and slow eyes, he knows that something isn’t right. Harry struggles to turn on his back. Luckily Connor helps him. When Harry isn’t facing those beautiful frozen eyes and long golden eyelashes and a sweet smile, everything starts to spin, everything turns to black, everything makes him nauseous.

The whispers in his ears turn brighter, only more disturbing, when Connor starts to kiss Harry’s chest. The blind man isn’t the only thing Harry can think about. It’s the memories, which make every little detail rush back like a train crushing Harry on to the tracks. It makes him powerless and it’s scary. How can Harry ever move forward from this heart break if he is being this paralyzed in someone else’s arms.

 

“Connor, Connor..” Harry pushes him from his shoulders. Connor lifts his lips from Harry’s skin, looking at him through his lashes. His hungry dark eyes scare Harry, they aren’t familiar.

“I.. I can’t do it..” Harry sighs, throwing his head back down on to the bed. It’s all so overwhelming that he can’t be the person anymore that he would like. He is ruined.  
Connor lays next to Harry, his shirt half open.

“Lina did say that you might be hung up on someone.” He chuckles, a little sadly if Harry is reading him right. But hold on..

“You know Lina?” Harry’s brows furrow, his mind coming more tired.

“Well it wasn’t completely a coincidence that I was there.” He turns his head to look at Harry. He doesn’t seem hurt, everything is under something that Harry can’t break. Maybe Connor hasn’t been in love. Maybe he is like a replica of Harry that he once was.

“Oh.” Harry’s mind is way too out of this space to be saying something more.

 

“Let’s talk more tomorrow? Sleep here, I can sleep in the living room.” Connor starts to get up, Harry stopping him with a strong grip on Connor’s forearm.

“Could you please stay?” Harry pleads. Even though he isn’t going to give Connor or himself the pleasure he came here in the first place for, he still wishes he could get some cuddles.

Connor smiles, falling back down and cradling Harry in his arms. And even though it’s strange to be in the arms of a man Harry doesn’t have any feelings towards to, it’s still nice. And it doesn’t feel that wrong anymore.

 

\- -

 

It’s too hot. Way too hot. Harry’s eyes shoot open, his back prickling with sweat. Connor’s arms are still around him. Very tight and very hot, burning Harry. His shirtless body, his legs in his tight jeans, feels suffocated by the heat from Connor and the uneasy feeling of the liqueur traveling up his throat. Harry swallows the vomit, wriggling out of Connor’s arms. He almost falls out of the bed, Connor unfazed by Harry’s absence.

In the darkness of the room, Harry manages to find his thin white button up shirt and pull it on his shoulders. His fingers fumble with the buttons, the hem uneven when he has buttoned a few of them. Harry takes his jacket from the floor on the hallway, carelessly crumbled by the wall. He finds his shoes by the door, not a single brain neuron reminding him of actually even taking them off.

 

“You’re going?” A rough voice says to Harry, coming closer with small dragged steps. Harry looks up, meeting Connor’s dark figure.

“I have to.” Harry sighs, the sick trying to come up to his mouth again.

“It was nice meeting you.” Connor offers, his voice hopeful. He keeps a distance to Harry, who is trying to put on his boots. Harry doesn’t answer, he doesn’t know what to answer.

 

“Harry?” Connor’s voice asks when Harry is putting on his jacket. Harry turns to him, his eyes glimmering in the faintest of lights in the dark of the night.

“You should try to solve things with the man you love.” Connor’s words are like knives being thrown at Harry. Sharp, hard to avoid, clear and they cut through the shield Harry had tried to build earlier in the night. Harry stares at Connor’s shadow, which stands by the wall, his hands stuffed to his pockets.

 

“I guess I never told you about a man in my life.” Harry tries to fix his shield.

“It’s written all over you. Especially in the way you kiss.” Connor manages to make new holes in to the shield. It makes Harry bow his head down.

“I’m not trying to hurt you. I’ve been there too. But I was stupid enough to not try to fight for it. I’m just saying that you shouldn’t make the same mistake I did and become someone like me.” Connor walks forward, his hands fixing Harry’s jacket on his shoulders. Harry tries to look him in the eyes, but it seems hard, his eyes not able to find a point to focus on.

“Just fight for it.” Connor says, his hands taking a hold of Harry’s cheeks. He smiles, drowsy, his eyes black. He kisses Harry on the lips, a friendly kiss, a farewell.

“Go safe.” He tells Harry, before Connor opens the door for Harry and closes it after him.

 

Harry’s head is spinning, the place unknown. He walks outside from the block of flats, meeting a freezing temperature and orange streetlights. He puts his hands in his pockets and starts walking. The cold doesn’t bother him, only his insides that try to recover from the drinking. They try to give up, bring up the acid fluids of his stomach. It’s unbearable how much he wants to throw up. So Harry gives up, heaving up the contents of his unwell insides on to the side of the road. It’s disgusting and liberating at the same time, just how weird as it sounds.

 

Fight for it, Harry scoffs after walking for what seems like forever in the cold night. His mouth tastes like rotten things, his head heavy and hurting from the cold and his drinking spree. And somehow it’s all almost like a wakeup call. This is the most alive Harry has felt in weeks. All because of love.

Love. Was it all really worth it? Was it all worth the pain? Worth the joy? Worth the tears that Harry doesn’t want to admit that he spilt. Because he totally didn’t. Definitely didn’t spill any tears, no, not at all. Except the tears that he did spill in the lonely hours he was reminiscing all the things that he lost, especially his heart that will now be in pieces and one large piece will be missing for the rest of his life.

What an odd thought. To have lost a piece of his heart and Harry just let Louis take it. Louis didn’t want it, but still he somehow manages to have a part of Harry’s heart. And it somehow makes Harry very calm. Maybe he could let that one piece go. Maybe he will be alright. This might actually be working, Harry is getting rid of his feelings. He accepts Louis having part of his heart and it’s fine.

A small smile spreads to Harry’s lips with the realization. He might be crazy, but he is also going to be fine. Louis just wasn’t worth it.

 

\- -

 

After walking for an hour and asking people where Harry really is, he finds his way to the front door of his building. He doesn’t want to take his hands out of his pockets, because he is afraid that the cold will make his fingers drop off. And he needs his fingers. Playing music would be hard without them.

Trying to be swift, Harry unlocks the door, climbs the steps to his apartment and with burning thighs and his head pounding, he gets inside to his safe haven. It’s nice and warm and familiar and dark. Harry walks in, takes off his shoes and coat and almost like a curtain dropping, he feels the exhaustion settling in his head and limbs.

 

His mind is doing flips, creating warped figures on the walls of the one people who has that part of Harry’s heart. And then the voices start. This time, they follow Harry in to his bedroom. They fall next to him on the mattress, whispering in to Harry’s ear. And the things the voice says are nonsense. They don’t mean anything. Harry doesn’t even understand what the words are. 

But he does recognize the voice to be Louis’. And it follows Harry to the brink of unconsciousness, to the part between wake and sleep. Somehow the voice is soothing and belongs there. Harry doesn’t even question it anymore. He accepts its existence, like it would be normal to hear Louis’ voice when Harry is completely alone.

 

The last thing Harry remembers is a faint scent of Louis in the air, like Harry would be cradled in Louis’ arms. Harry opens his half shut eyes, trying to meet the messy fringe and he thinks he sees it. But he can’t be certain because of the darkness. He feels the soft lips of Louis touching the peak of Harry’s cheek, disappearing in to Harry’s sleep. 

The part that Louis has of Harry’s heart starts to ache even in Harry’s sleep. In that unreal world of his unconsciousness, he realizes that it’s not okay that Louis actually has a part of him forever. That Harry will never get rid of his feelings towards Louis. And it’s thousand times harder to move forward when the pain from the liqueur is being replaced by the feeling of heart ache.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on tumblr: [sing-about-being-free](http://sing-about-being-free.tumblr.com/) (main) or [alltheselittlewritings](http://alltheselittlewritings.tumblr.com/). Come say hi or please leave a comment :)


	8. Chapter 8

“Ouch!” Harry screeches, when he takes hungover steps in to his living room. It’s already late in the afternoon, his eyes still not wholly open. Harry moves his foot from the edge of the carpet, small drops of blood dripping on to the floor. He grimaces at the faint smell of metal that wafts in to the air. His foot doesn’t hurt that much, the ball of his foot stinging only the tiniest bit.

The biggest problem is the smell. Harry is already nauseous. He has been sitting by the toilet for the past couple of hours, the cool white tile floor against his sweat clammy legs. His hands are shaking, his head heavy like it would be filled with rocks. 

He has thrown up four times, the last one was only dry heaving against the edge of the toilet seat. His voice is completely gone and his eyes blurry. And everything from last night is flashing back in to his head. The bar. The drinks. Connor. Connor’s hands. His dark eyes. The feeling of danger when Harry was so drunk. How he was so ready to be used while his mind was screaming no, but his body was saying yes.

The weirdest part is that it all feels so wrong. Harry feels like a cheater. He hasn’t been with Louis for weeks, but he is so hung up that he can’t get rid of his feelings. He wants to grow a cold heart. Well in reality Harry has never had a cold heart. But he would want to have one, just for a little while. Just for the time that he is trying to recover.

 

Maybe the sting in his foot is a sign, that’s Harry’s first thought. This is a sign to let go. It’s now or never. Harry walks to the sofa, leaving behind a small trail of blood. The stinging gets worse, like something would be digging in to his flesh. With a struggle Harry lifts his powerless leg over his knee to see the bottom of his foot.

It’s worse than he expected. Blood seeps out from a cut, where a piece of glass is stuck. The red has spread around the wound, making a river to his toes and back to his heel. No wonder it stings. And it’s getting worse as long as Harry is watching it.

He feels vomit coming up again, the smell of his blood and his awful hangover working together against Harry. He drops his foot back on to the floor, the shard of glass digging a bit deeper in to his flesh. He whimpers but stands up, trying to avoid stepping on to the wound.

 

After heaving up liquids from his stomach and air from his body, he thinks he is finally empty. The only things that are left are the headache and the shard of glass. Harry closes the lid on the toilet seat and sits down, cleaning up the wound with antiseptic. 

Cold sweat drips down the back of his neck, his hands shaking, when Harry makes himself take out the piece of glass. It’s deep and it’s stuck. Harry feels sick when his weak hand tries to take out the bloody shard, his fingers becoming slippery. He tries to take deep breaths, but his willpower is fighting back against his bravery. Still he keeps going. The shard moves a little, ripping out the skin a little more. A small screech escapes Harry’s lips.

This pain is better than the one in my chest, Harry thinks. The pain in his chest gets more powerful than the pain in his foot. The glass reminds him of the day after Louis came over for the first time. And the last. This shard is a reminder of their breakup. Screaming out blood from Harry’s foot, it reminds Harry of his heartache and his memories. All the good and the bad comes back in a wave, like a tsunami. Before Harry even can register it, he has taken the piece of glass out. But the pain isn’t in his bleeding foot. It’s all over his chest. His eyes burn with the tears that fall on his thighs.

 

The red covered piece of glass lays on the floor. Drops of blood fall down the edge of Harry’s foot and create a puddle on the floor. It hurts. Everywhere. Harry wants to throw up again. He falls on the floor, his cold hands opening the toilet seat and puking out the acid from his insides. His curls stick to his temples, his whole body shuddering with the waves of vomit coming up to his mouth and out.

 

\- -

 

Harry stands in a cold shower with his mouth minty fresh after brushing his teeth twice. His skin burns under the stream. His hair cascades down to his shoulders, the real length revealing itself. His eyelashes are drenched, sticking together making them look like the cusps of stars. The pink water from under his foot has turned to clear. The blood flow out from him has stopped, but his skin is angry red under the icy water. Like Harry would be swimming in Louis’ eyes.

He closes his eyes, imagining himself on a shore. It’s a lake. Cold, blue shadowed lake. Snow crunches under Harry’s feet, as he walks closer to the lively water. It hasn’t frozen while everything else has. It’s quiet, not a single soul with him.

 

His naked body walks in to the water and dips in. He starts to swim. Even though everything is covered in winter, the lake is warm. Everything is warm. Harry moves slowly, taking long pulls with his arms. Lake water goes in to his mouth, the taste sweet and gentle. 

The air is fresh, easy to breathe and it smells like summer. Harry’s eyes search the source of the smell, but they can only see cold winter and different shades of blue. Until he stops and starts to wonder at the water. 

It glimmers, it makes a small twinkling sound. Like thousands of quiet wind chimes would be hung on trees. Something shines from under the water, making Harry curious. He takes a deep breath before he dives under the surface.

 

His eyes can’t keep up with the motion when the world spins and Harry is on the surface again. But this time it’s summer. Everything is vibrant. Birds are singing somewhere, the sun setting in thousands of different shades. Yellows, purples, reds and even hints of blue. It’s all so overwhelmingly beautiful that Harry has to stay still for a while, only looking around.

The lake is deep blue, gentle waves brushing Harry’s skin like fingertips. There are wind chimes swaying lightly in the warm breeze and creating the most beautiful sound in the world. Everything is bathed in colors and movement and the dreamy surroundings are calm like in a paradise. Cotton candy clouds drift across the sky, looking soft like a place where Harry could go and sleep.

 

There’s someone standing on the beach. It’s too far away for Harry to see the person clearly. But Harry knows that it’s Louis. He just knows. The curve of his hips, the lines of his thighs, the way the wind moves his soft hair. He is sad. Louis hangs his head, his shoulders slumped forward. He is waiting for something. When he has stood long enough, he starts to take slow steps on the sand, walking around the lake. Harry tries to swim closer, but there is a barrier.

As much as he would want to go closer to Louis, he can’t. He physically can’t approach him. Harry tries to say Louis’ name, but he can’t even open his mouth. His lips are sewn shut, his throat thick with so much voice that he can’t process it. Harry can only breathe and watch Louis walk on the beach, his fair skin catching the sun but shooting it right back.

 

Harry follows Louis for a while, his own desperation kicking in. He has to say something to Louis. But the barrier and the invisible hands on his throat are not co-operating. He can’t do anything. So he dives back in to the winter. He breathes in the fresh cool air, the water still warm around him.

“Louis!” Harry yells, his voice booming like it would be screamed from a top of a mountain and creating avalanches in the peaceful nature. Nothing happens, Harry’s voice travelling against the frozen trees and echoing back. The voice scares Harry, like he would be speaking for the first time. Like he would’ve learned to use his voice.

 

Harry realizes that he is yelling Louis’ name over and over again in his shower. The cold water is still streaming from the nozzle, tear streams following the water in to the drain. Quiet weeps flow from Harry’s mouth. He feels miserable, the most miserable he has ever felt. He misses Louis. Is this part of the piece he left with him? He misses that piece back with Louis. Harry doesn’t know how long he can take it anymore.

 

A loud banging sound shakes Harry from his thoughts. He lifts his head, closing the shower and listening in the silent toilet. Did he imagine that?

Boom. Boom. Boom.

No, he didn’t. Harry steps out from the shower, his skin prickles. He wraps himself up in a large deep blue towel and even that reminds Harry of Louis. What is wrong with me, he thinks. It’s like Harry would’ve broken up with Louis not over nine weeks ago, but yesterday. Harry walks to the front door and opens it carefully, waiting for a wild boar to be behind it.

 

“I’ve been standing here for fucking ages!” Niall yells, pushing his way inside. Harry steps against the wall, holding on to his towel hard as Niall sweeps past him.

“You look like shit.” He breathes, his shoes leaving wet sand and dirt on the floor. Niall sits on the sofa, looking around the apartment. Harry closes the front door slowly, stepping around Niall’s footprints.

“Thanks.” Harry mutters, sitting beside Niall.

“What’s happened here?” Niall points to the blood on the floor and carpet.

“I hurt my foot.” Harry sighs, his blood shot eyes staring at the wall in front of them.

 

“What are you doing here Niall?” Harry asks, his voice tired and ragged. The headache sweeps back in to his brain, his stomach heavy with uneasiness and even a hint of hunger.

“Have you heard from Louis?” Niall’s worried voice makes Harry turn his eyes to him. He only shakes his head, Niall’s eyes dropping on to the space between them.

“Has something happened?” Harry asks, his heart picking up its pace.

“I haven’t seen him for days. I’ve asked his friends if they have seen him, but nothing. He hasn’t been home, he hasn’t been at the studio. I just thought if he might’ve come here.” Niall is clearly in distress. His skin is lifeless, his hair unmade.

 

“Have you called to his parents?” Harry is a bit taken off. He doesn’t know what to think. Could Louis be in trouble? What if he is in trouble? What if something has happened to him?

“Every day. They haven’t heard from him either or seen him. He has never done this before. He didn’t leave me any note, he has his phone turned off. Something's not right.” Niall whimpers, actually whimpers.

“Could you come with me? To the police station? I have to file him missing.” Niall tilts his head, his brows pulling together, creating wrinkles on his forehead.

“Of course.” Harry can’t close his mouth. His mind is doing back flips and cartwheels and he doesn’t know how to act.

 

“I’ll just go and put some clothes on.” Harry finally mumbles, his feet dragging the floor. He remembers the cut on the bottom of his foot. He takes a detour through the toilet and puts a band aid on the wound. When Harry steps out to go in to the bedroom, he sees Niall with his face buried in his hands. Something is so off. Louis wouldn’t just leave, would he?

Harry puts on his jeans and a jumper.

“Let’s go.” Harry says. Niall stands up and waits for Harry to put on his shoes and jacket, making sure he has his keys and phone. As Niall opens the door, Harry catches his scarf from the clothing stand and wraps it around his neck. 

 

\- -

 

“Why are we going from here? The station is in the other direction?” Harry looks at Niall, who is driving way too wildly on the wet streets.

“I forgot a picture of Louis, they might need it.” He says, his hands tightening around the steering wheel. Harry feels like he could get sick again, but not because of the drinking. But because of the worry. Louis has a piece of Harry’s heart. But what if something has happened to him? What has happened to Harry’s piece of heart?

 

Niall stops in front of the house, Harry following him out of the car and in to the apartment. He stuffs his hands in to his pockets, burying his face in his thick scarf. Niall walks around the apartment, the place otherwise silent and lifeless. Not Louis. It never reminded Harry of Louis, it still doesn’t. And it’s odd to be here. It’s like nothing has changed, but still everything has changed. And it rubs Harry the wrong way.

“Harry, would you come and check Louis’ room? If you see something that I haven’t noticed.” Niall comes to stand next to Harry, almost whispering the words. Harry looks at him a beat longer but nodding his head. He follows Niall to Louis’ room door. A sturdy chair is next to the door. Niall opens it for Harry, letting him step inside first.

 

Just as Harry’s feet are over the doorstep, Niall pushes the door shut and hits Harry in the back with the door handle. Harry turns around, his hands on the handle, trying to turn it. Niall drags something against the door, making it impossible for Harry to open the door. It’s the chair.

“You two will figure your shit out right now!” Niall yells from the other side. Harry hears his steps getting further, leaving Harry standing dumbfounded behind the closed door.

 

He turns around slowly, meeting Louis’ figure sitting on the chair by the desk under the window. Grey light streams in to the room. The air stands still, the atmosphere everything else other than joyful or alright. 

Louis doesn’t move, which makes Harry wonder if he is even Louis. If it’s a doll. He is proven wrong, when Louis places a pencil on the table. His hand is covered with his thick dark purple jumper sleeve. His hair is tangled, all the shine of the strands gone.

Harry moves to lean his back against the opposite wall and drop to sit on the floor. He unwraps his neck from under the scarf and takes off his jacket. He puts them on the chair next to him, taking off his boots too. He relaxes his muscles against the floor, feeling everything coming back.

It doesn’t take long before he is completely paralyzed. Louis is here, in the same room and even though he isn’t saying anything, he is there. Harry knew long ago that this moment would ignite the fire inside of him. But he didn’t imagine that it would feel like he would be burning on a stake. He never imagined to feel such torture.

 

“What did he tell you to get you here?” Louis’ small voice asks. It’s unbearable for Harry to hear it. Louis acting so normal isn’t fair towards Harry. Harry’s hungover leaves his body like it would be scared out of him. He gets some of his strength back to lift himself up from the floor and stand up. But he doesn’t know what to do next. So he falls back on the floor, leaning his back against the wall. The strength in his muscles dissolves in to weakness, his mind blanking out and his eyes falling shut.

 

“You aren’t even here.” Louis says after a long pause, a dry chuckle leaving his mouth. Who isn’t here?

“Stop talking.” Louis cries out, covering his ears with his hands and leaning against his desk. He looks like he would be in pain. In excruciating pain that is so deep, it will tear him apart. He sways back and forth, back and forth. 

The sniffles of Louis’ crying fill the room. Harry’s hands lay limp on his lap, wet spots falling on his fingers. He looks down, seeing that the water is falling from him. His eyes. He is crying too. Harry wipes the tears away, lifting himself up once again from the floor. He feels like not breathing, but still his lungs fill with air and blow it out.

 

He walks behind Louis, knowing that he didn’t hear his steps. Louis’ shoulders shake, his hands squeezing against his ears. Harry’s hands make fists and open up a few times, before he moves them beside Louis’ hands. Slowly he drags his fingertips from Louis’ fingers and down to his wrist. Louis startles and almost turns around in his rotating chair.  
Harry’s body stops him, his hands releasing Louis’ hold on his ears. Harry holds his wrist in his fingers, Harry’s hands warming up. 

He doesn’t know what he is doing or what he could do. Instinctively he leans down, placing Louis’ hands on the table. He doesn’t let go, but keeps the lightest hold of Louis’ tiny wrists that have revealed from under his huge jumper. His hands are cold, too cold. Harry looks down on the desk and sees the sketch book in front of Louis. The page is empty, only the pencil in the middle of the paper.

 

Harry’s lips brush Louis’ high cheekbone, his pale skin like winter itself. His eyes flutter closed, Harry repeating it with his own eyes. He lets his breath shiver against Louis’ skin, moving towards his ear. He would want to say something hurtful, make it more painful, like it has been for Harry. But the hollows on Louis’ cheeks stop him.

“He said that you had gone missing.” Harry mumbles as he lets go of Louis’ wrists and moves away. Louis is frozen still. Harry bites his teeth together while he backs to Louis’ bed and sits on the mattress. He lays down, the familiar comforter soft under his hands. He moves them slightly, like he would be making a snow angel.

 

“Are you real? Are you really here?” Louis whisper, his shoulders tense. Like he would be made out of marble. He is afraid to move, afraid to break the illusion if it wasn’t real.

“I’m here.” Harry stares up at the roof. The light from the window creates Louis’ shadow on the surface. That has been Harry’s life, shadows for the past weeks. And Louis is still a shadow.

“Are you really here?” Louis repeats.

“I’m here.” Harry says again, moving his eyes to look at Louis. His shoulders loose the tension a little bit. But he still isn’t moving.

 

“What has happened to your voice?” Is the next question Louis decides to ask. Harry would want to hurt him so bad, say something in the lines of A guy face fucked me so hard last night that I got a sore throat or I was screaming out my boyfriend’s name last night. But he can’t do it. Even though Louis is sitting on that chair in the same room, Louis isn’t there. Maybe Niall was right. Maybe Louis is missing.

 

“I’ve been throwing up all morning.” Harry says, his voice wheezing out.

“Are you sick?” Louis turns his head towards his bed, but Harry still can’t see anything else other than the high rise of his cheek and the light that lines it.

“No, I’m hungover.” Harry sighs and rests his head back on to the comforter. The ceiling is so interesting in the grey light. It almost makes him sleepy. But he doesn’t have time to fall asleep when he has to deal with this that’s in the same room with him. Louis is draining all his energy, Harry feeling his body weight increasing like someone would be feeding him bricks. The head ache is back, many times worse than it was before. He closes his eyes like it would make the pain go away. 

 

“Did you meet anyone?” Louis’ barely there voice asks. He envelopes himself in his jumper, squeezing his hands between his thighs. Harry’s eyes open, staring at the shadow on the ceiling. This is why meeting Connor was wrong. This is why flirting with him was wrong. This is why going back to his place was wrong. This is why kissing him was wrong. This is why Harry didn’t sleep with him.

 

“Yes.” Harry answers bluntly. It’s better to be honest than lie. But saying that Harry met someone to his ex-boyfriend seems still like such a low thing from him. Harry sees Louis from the corner of his eye. Louis takes a deep breath, his shoulders turning forward. Something shifts in the mood between them. Like Harry would be here telling Louis that someone has died.

 

“Why did you come with Niall?” Louis sure does know how to pick the right questions.

Because I wanted to see if things had changed here? I wanted to maybe see that you had actually gone? I wanted to make sure I’m never going to see you again? Did you know I hate you?

“I think you can guess the answer to that Louis all on your own.” Harry can’t say what he’d really want to say. He hates to be this soft. He hates to be this vulnerable in front of Louis. And he hates the feeling of hate he feels towards Louis. The love that he once felt for the man has turned in to something so ugly. And all because he rejected Harry.There really must be something wrong with me, Harry thinks and closes his eyes.

 

“I guess I wanted to make sure that you might still feel that way?” Louis says, dropping more bricks on top of Harry. It’s so tiring to hear those words. Like Harry would’ve just dropped all his feelings and moved on. Harry was so ready to give his everything to Louis and then he only gets a cold shoulder in return. That’s it, something snaps in Harry’s head.

“So you could push me away again? So you could say that we aren’t meant to be together? So you could maybe give me a detailed explanation why you don’t want to be with me. Maybe you want to say all the things that you hate in me. Go ahead Louis! I’m waiting! Don’t waste our time now! You could be doing your precious art work rather than talk with me or love me or anything for that matter. Go ahead Louis, say it to me now so we won’t be wasting our time.” Harry’s rage boils over, his mouth dry, his cheeks burning. 

He is clenching the bed cover in his fists. He feels like he could hit something or throw something against the wall. Harry opens his eyes to look at Louis, who has his face turned towards the window. Such a coward.

 

“I shouldn’t have come here.” Harry says, shaking his head. He is so confused with all the things that circle in his mind. And it’s all Louis and he doesn’t know how to get through this. He had been doing so well (at least in his standards) and now he has to be in a room with Louis. Harry decides that he hates Niall too. That bastard.

“Maybe it was good that you did?” Louis’ voice shakes.

“What? Why?” Harry pinches the bridge of his nose. He is so frustrated. Why can’t he just move on like an adult.

“So you could say all those things to me.” Louis mutters, dropping his face towards his lap once again. Harry’s hatred crumbles. Like Louis would be a wrecking ball that would crash against the walls Harry has been trying to build. Louis turns the walls in to dust around Harry and that dust will fly far away in the wind.

Louis disarms Harry from all his words. He can’t defend himself or his feelings. He makes Harry become paralyzed again. He doesn’t give Harry any chances to move on with his life.

 

“Tell me what you want to get out of this? Was this all your plan to trick me to come here? What do you want Louis?” Harry breathes out a long sigh. He hopes to get an honest answer. That’s all he wants. Maybe he needs this. Closure, so he can finally get over Louis. So Harry could pick up guys like Connor and be who he was and not have a care in the world. That is his dream.

Harry’s head grows silent in the quiet of the room. Would that really be his dream? Is that what Harry really wants? He might want those things now, but what will it be in twenty years? When he would be all alone, screwing guys and pretending to be okay. Would he really be okay? Would it all be just a cover for him?

“This was never my plan, I didn’t even know that Niall had been in contact with you.” Louis laughs dryly.

“He hasn’t.” Harry narrows his eyes at Louis.

“Oh.”

 

“How will I get out of here?” Harry asks, when Louis loses his ability to speak again.

“I don’t know.”

Harry buries his head deeper in to the mattress.

“I guess he wants me to be honest.” Louis chuckles. It’s the weirdest sound that catches in Harry’s ears. Louis’ voice has changed. Can that even happen?

“Go ahead.” Harry encourages. His voice is full of resentment, but there might be a hint of interest laced in the words.

 

Louis takes the pencil from the sketch book in to his hands. He draws on to his skin with the other end, no markings staying intact. He writes something on to his palm, but Harry can’t figure out what it could be.

“It’s been exactly nine weeks and three days since I last made something with this pencil. Or with paint. I can’t touch my paint brushes. You know why, Harry? Because I’m weak. I say things that I think seem reasonable and rational. But when those things come true, I can’t cope.” Louis says weakly, his hands starting to shake. The shaking makes Louis place the pencil back on the desk and start to twist his fingers. Harry sits up on the bed, his head getting more alert.

 

“I never thought that love could hurt so much.” Louis says, hastily getting up from the chair and walking with a few quick steps to his door. He moves the handle a few times, before crashing against the wooden surface. Something clatters on the other side, Louis opening the door without troubles. Harry watches after him, as Louis walks towards the stairs to the studio. A door opens and closes with a loud bang.

Harry stays to sit for a moment, trying to process what just happened. I never thought that love could hurt so much. Harry thought that was his motto all along. Maybe he was sharing it with Louis. Harry stands up, but doesn’t want to go after Louis. He doesn’t want to seem desperate. Would he seem desperate? At this point Harry would want to get some answers though.

 

The pencil lays on top of the sketch book. The large white paper is waiting for the touch of the led tip. The boring light calls Harry to come closer, to turn the pages. His hand takes the paper from the corner and turns it gently back in time.

The paper that reveals from under the new blank sheet is ruined. The surface is crinkled and bumpy, like an old newspaper that has been outside for too long and rain has hit the paper. Harry turns the page back, seeing another white surface with the same markings. Not a single pencil or color has hit the page, only those drops of water.

Harry turns the pages, going back in to a drawing. It’s a figure without a face. Unruly hair flies wildly around the blank face. The hair is long, curly, dark. The outlines of the curls are gently drawn, with grace. It’s like Harry would be looking straight towards the sun and someone would be in front of him. And he would be so blind by the sun that he wouldn’t see the features. Something grabs his heart in his chest, squeezing it hard and making Harry’s breath catch in his throat. He looks upwards, like he would see through the ceiling and up in to the studio.

 

Harry’s feet take stiff steps out in to the hallway. He looks up towards the door at the end of the stairs. He looks at it the whole time he has to walk. He feels his insides flip. He grasps the door handle in his hand and twists it gently, letting himself in.

Louis is standing in front of the large canvas that’s still up on the wall. It’s the same canvas where Harry wrote the word for the first time. Some of the things that Louis at that time painted are still there. But everything is covered in bright red paint. The only thing that hasn’t been touched is the Love Harry once painted there.

 

The red paint spells Love all over the canvas, the letters over each other, making a mess. The letters are shaky, unsure in some places. The closer the red words get to Harry’s creation, the more aggressive they become. They are made with a steady hand, in different fonts, some a bit crooked, some almost like they were made with a ruler. Some parts are messy, Harry recognizing hand prints that have messed over the words. And then they begin again, the love, powerfully closing the distance between the red and the blue word.

Louis stands right in front of the canvas. He starts to walk closer to it, when Harry has closed the door to the studio. Harry’s feet are glued to the floor, as he watches what the canvas has become. The cemetery of love.

 

Louis’ hand drags against the surface, moving closer to Harry’s writing. His fingers stop, when they hit the blue edge of the L of the word. He doesn’t move his fingers for a moment, until with a slow drag he traces the line of the letters. Harry can hear a light rustle of the canvas.

“What’s the song?” Louis asks, as he moves his fingers against the Love over and over again. It’s like an obsession, watching Louis spell the word with his fingers over the marks.

“It was a song that I liked to play when we were..”

“Still together?” Louis’ hand stops for a beat, starting again after Harry doesn’t say anything.

 

“How does the song go?” Louis asks instead. Almost like he would be begging for Harry to say something. Begging to hear his voice. Harry hums the notes quietly, watching Louis closely. Seeing the reaction his voice makes. 

The tense posture Louis has relaxes, his body losing the hard lines and edges. His hand drops from the canvas as he turns around. For the first time Harry sees Louis’ face. The pale skin of his cheeks, the purple circles under his eyes, the coldest blue of his eyes Harry has ever seen.

Louis is only a shadow of what he was. His cheeks are hollow, his collarbones like pools against his shoulders. His hair is a little messy, the fringe on point as usual. His hair is soft, very soft. So soft that Harry would want to run to Louis and bury his fingers in his hair. Louis flattens his back against the canvas and drags it against the wall to sit on the floor. He holds his hands on top of his knees, his eyes towards the windows. Harry wonders if Louis can see his figure.

 

“I guess it’s pretty obvious.” Louis smirks, the movement of his lips never reaching his other features. It doesn’t lift the highest parts of his cheeks. It doesn’t reach his eyes and make the corners crinkle. Harry sits down on the wooden floor. He is so far away that it’s ridiculous. He shudders against the cold wood. His brows are pulled together in concentration, his mind going wild.

“Did you ever love me?” Harry dares to ask. His throat feels tight, his voice rough.

“Always, Harry.” Louis leans his head against the wall, his eyes closing. His long lashes seem almost black against his cheeks.

 

“Why did you break up with me then?”

“Because I freaked out! I wasn’t expecting you to say it!” Louis opens his eyes to look towards Harry.

“I never said it to you.” Harry mumbles, turning his eyes away from Louis.

“But you had said it, here!” Louis smacks his hand flat against the canvas behind his back.

“When I found out what you had written, I started to cry. Niall thought that something had happened between us. But you know why I cried?” Harry shakes his head, when Louis takes a deep breath preparing him to continue. 

“Because I had already fallen for you and then I knew that you felt the same way. And I didn’t want that to happen.” Louis explains, his voice uneven, breaking and cracking under his words.

 

“Why not Louis! I was ready for it!” Harry raises his voice. The whole studio echoes with the sound of his words.

“What do you see in me?” Louis asks.

“Do you really want me to answer that?” Harry is dumbfounded by the question.

“Yes.” Louis says blankly.

“Everything. I see everything in you. I see the beauty of your mind, the way your hands make art, the way you speak makes my insides turn around and twist in to knots. And did you know that that is the best feeling in the world. The way you say my name is something that I miss. I miss your voice, Louis!”

“I miss the things that could’ve been! I miss how you play with my hair because you wanted to feel the curls. Or the way you wanted to memorize my face with your hands. Or how you make me feel something so much more than just a trophy from a bar that you can throw in to the gutter the next morning.”

“I miss the things that you told me! I’ve even miss the things you said to me when I did something silly or how you asked me how the day was. I miss those little things and gestures and touches and you! You! Can’t you understand that!”

“You saw me. You are the first person who actually seems to understand me and who actually respects me! I miss that feeling when you would just hug me and hold me!” Harry finishes with tears in his eyes, his voice watery and he is sure that Louis can hear it too. Louis is breathing through his mouth, his eyes dwelling up.

 

“You don’t care?” He asks, tilting his head.

“What! I don’t care? About what, you? Didn’t you just hear what I told you!” Harry yells out, standing up. His body struggle to stay in balance, his feet stumbling.

“No, I mean.. You don’t care that I can’t see?” Louis’ innocence is like a ray of starlight. Harry stares at Louis with his jaw slack. He can’t produce words, he can’t attach his voice with the things that he has in his head.

“Speak Harry!” The tears roll down on to Louis’ cheeks like rivers. Like rivers from those frozen warm lakes.

 

“Earlier today, I guess when I was still a little drunk, I took an imaginary journey in your eyes. I imagined swimming in them. You don’t see them yourself, but I can. They are like a mirage in the middle of winter. And I swam in those eyes, in that blue that is almost like someone would’ve put a spell on you and made them freeze.”

“When I dove under the surface I was met with summer. The sunset and colors and you. And you were alone, Louis. But I couldn’t come closer because something was stopping me. So I dove back in to the wintery scene you have in your eyes and I was happy. I could speak to you and I felt like home.” Harry explains and he feels stupid. To put it in to words, what he saw in his head.

“What are you on about?” Louis asks, his brows scrunching together.

“I mean that I don’t care if you see or not. I’ve found my home in your eyes and I want to see them every day because they have been haunting me since the day you left. You can’t even understand how beautiful you are Louis. But I can and I do and I want to cherish it.” Harry’s cheeks start to burn. Once again he is being completely honest. He can’t put up a barrier, he can’t pretend to be someone else for Louis.

 

“You don’t care?” Louis lifts himself up from the floor. He is much more graceful than Harry can ever be.

“I don’t care if you can visually see me or not, I care about you as a person.” Harry says, the words flowing out with ease. It’s the first thing that feels easy to say. Louis stands by the messy words of love and that one blue love that stands out. Harry walks slowly to him, stopping at an arm’s length away.

“I’m so sorry Harry. I’m so sorry that I lost you and that I hurt you. I’m sorry that I pushed you away. I’m sorry that I treated you so badly.” Louis looks down, his hair falling over his eyes. 

Harry’s heart beats like this would be the first time seeing Louis. Like he wouldn’t have asked him on a date ever before. Like they wouldn’t have talked before. Like Louis would be only an art student from university and Harry would be a music student.

 

Harry encourages himself to lift his hand. His fingertips touch the rise of Louis’ cheek, making his skin rise with goose bumps. Harry’s spine tingles with shivers. Louis lifts his eyes to meet Harry, the frozen color wide and tentative.

“What do you say if we’d go have some cake at a café full of cats?” Harry asks, his voice light. Louis’ lips curve upwards and it’s like Harry would be bathing in the first light of dawn. Louis takes a step forward, his hand rising to Harry’s shoulder. His fingers find Harry’s hair, especially a very curly strand that he starts to twirl between his fingers. He reaches his lips upwards but Harry quickly turns his face away, Louis’ lips hitting Harry’s cheek.

“Give me a bit more time, okay?” Harry asks, pressing his forehead against Louis’. He is clearly embarrassed by his attempt.

 

“All the time you need.” Louis whispers and wraps his hands around Harry’s body. Harry leans against him. They walk backwards, until Louis’ back hits the canvas. Harry buries his face in to Louis’ neck. He feels the lines of the paint pushing against the back of his hand, creating a dent on his skin. Harry opens his eyes to see the canvas, the thick paint clear against the white background. It’s clearly for Louis, so he would know what he has painted.

Harry closes his eyes once again, feeling Louis’ hot breath against his neck. It’s the oddest feeling to be in the arms of the one he has missed for so long. To feel the person hold on tight so Harry wouldn’t leave. It feels warm and scary and everything from explosions to screaming to laughing. Harry feels it all.

Harry feels like he has come home. This is the place he belongs to. He feels the empty part in his heart filling, slowly making him complete. He is ready to trust Louis, more than ever. He feels like exploding with joy but he manages to suppress it in to a tighter hug. He snuggles his face against Louis’ neck, getting firm kisses to his cheek.

 

Home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on tumblr: [sing-about-being-free](http://sing-about-being-free.tumblr.com/) (main) or [alltheselittlewritings](http://alltheselittlewritings.tumblr.com/). Come say hi or please leave a comment :)


	9. Chapter 9

They have been walking for a while now. The frost is falling down slowly, making Louis’ cheeks turn pink and Harry’s fingertips cold.

“The tea was nice.” Harry mumbles, breathing in the cold air.

“I liked the company better.” Louis elbows Harry gently. His hand wraps around Harry’s arm, pulling himself closer to Harry’s side.

“Let’s stop for a while.” Louis whispers, pulling Harry’s sleeve gently. Harry turns around and looks at Louis. His hair is peeking from under his grey beanie. His glasses cover his eyes, but Harry is almost sure that he can see Louis’ eyes twinkling. Or then it’s the streetlights.

 

“Why? It’s cold.” Harry whines and scrunches his nose but stops as Louis had wished. Louis walks in front of Harry, placing his hand on Harry’s chest. He keeps himself still for a while, only moving his hand against Harry. He feels the pressure of Louis’ hand, knowing that something is coming. Louis comes closer, wrapping his arms around Harry and pressing his ear against the spot his hand was against. Harry stands still, slowly wrapping his arms around Louis. He doesn’t know what is happening, but something is going on.

“What are you doing exactly?”

“Your voice is even lower like this.” Louis says and lifts his head from Harry’s chest. He smiles, keeping his hands entwined behind Harry’s back.

“I just wanted to hear your heart.” Louis’ innocent voice reaches Harry’s ears with a puff of air that lingers between them.

“My heart?”

“I like the sound of your heartbeat.” Louis says sincerely, releasing his hands around Harry and only taking Harry’s hand in to his. He starts to walk towards the way they were coming from, but Harry stands still, smiling to himself. He pulls Louis’ hand, making him turn around.

“The wrong way?” Louis asks, his voice unsure.

“A bit.” Harry chuckles and starts to lead them to the right direction, towards Louis’ house. Louis sighs but comes to Harry’s side and takes a firm hold of Harry’s arm.

 

“So, my heartbeat?” Harry questions, his voice playful.

“So you caught that.” Louis smiles down to his feet.

“No, I was talking about the heartbeat of a hedgehog that sits on my shoulder.” Harry jokes, making Louis giggle silently.

“Very funny.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize your jokes! I love them!” Louis looks up towards Harry’s face, his lips curved upwards, but there is something very serious behind those shades.  
They walk in silence, the burning question about Harry’s heartbeat still in his mind.

 

“I’m not going to drop it.” Harry says, squeezing Louis’ hand.

“I knew you wouldn’t.” Louis has a clear smile in his voice.

“So tell me.”

“It’s really calm. I like that it’s so calm. Even though when we were going out for the first times and we might’ve hugged, then it wasn’t calm, not at all. The sound was like a panicked bird trying to fly in a too small cage. Now it’s serene. You know what’s the best sound of your heart that I like hearing?”

“What?”

“When you’re coming down after an orgasm and first your heart is so wild and then it’s just quiet and almost happy, if that is even a sound.” Louis says proudly.

“Louis!” Harry shrieks, releasing his hands from Louis’ grip and taking Louis’ sides in to his hands. Louis laughs loudly, throwing his head back.

“You must’ve guessed something when I always wanted to keep my head on your chest after we had sex.” Louis says too loudly, Harry covering his mouth with his hands.

“Shhh!” Harry sushes Louis, making him laugh against Harry’s palms.

 

“You wanted to keep your head against my chest even though we hadn’t had sex too.” Harry remarks, when the laughter has died down. His voice is quieter.

“Of course I wanted to. Like I said, I like the sound of your heartbeat.” Louis says nonchalantly. He almost shrugs his shoulders, but stops himself just in the last minute, when Harry presses his hands on top of his shoulders. Harry starts walking Louis to his home, walking behind him and making them take goofy steps from side to side and wobbling along.

 

\- -

 

“You want to come in?” Louis asks, when he has his keys in his hand.

“I… think I should go.” Harry tells him, bowing his head down.

“Not even for a..” Louis starts.

“More tea?” Harry finishes his sentence. Louis smiles, clinking his keys in his fingers.

 

“I’m good. I’ll call you later.” Harry says, letting loose of Louis’ hand. Their fingers stay attached though.

“You know, I’m starting a new project tomorrow. I don’t know how long it will take from me and I was thinking if you might want to help me?” Louis lifts his face to meet Harry.

“What time?” Harry raises his brows, interest in his voice.

“As early as possible? You know, that’s why it’d be so good if you’d just sleep here.” Louis swings their hands between them.

 

“I really don’t think it’s such a good idea.” Harry tilts his head, biting his lips together. Louis nods, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth.

“I don’t mean that we would do, you know, something. I’m really tired too and I was just thinking if you’d stay here to sleep.” Louis says quietly. He pulls in a breath but stands bravely in front of Harry.

“Just to sleep?”

“Just to sleep.” Louis confirms. Harry thinks about the proposition for a moment until he nods. He smiles, moving his hand to take a proper hold of Louis hand again.

“Okay.” He simply says, making Louis smile wide and joyful. Louis turns around, opening the door after fumbling for a bit with the key. They walk inside the dark apartment, Niall not at home.

 

“I’ll just go and wash my teeth. You know where my room is. And if you want to eat something you can take whatever you want from the fridge. And if you want to wash your teeth or face or have a shower, I guess I have an extra toothbrush and I know that I have a towel if you want one..” Louis rambles. Harry tunes him out, just watching Louis’ lips speak nervously. He isn’t even facing Harry, even though he knows where Harry stands because their hands are still holding.

“I could wash my teeth too. But you go ahead first.” Harry tells him, when Louis is raising his brows behind his glasses and his lips have stopped moving.

“Okay, I’ll find you the toothbrush.” Louis says, before he lets go of Harry’s hand and walks quickly to the bathroom in the hallway.

 

Harry stays to stand by the door. He breathes in the familiar air of the apartment. He hasn’t been here after he and Louis made up three weeks ago. That’s because they made a deal – no sleepovers before things were more normal. No sleepovers before both of them were ready for it. Harry is really sure that he wants to stay the night, even though it would consist of sleeping. That’s even better really. He is still trying to come off from the ice he is slipping on.

Being with Louis has been amazing. More relaxed and open and honest. Louis has told him things that he hasn’t known about Louis. And Harry has been able to open up about his feelings. Not at once, hell no! It would be too much of a shock for both of them. But when the time has been right, Harry might’ve told Louis when he realized he had deeper feelings for Louis. Or what it’s like to be with Louis. Just smaller things so it’s easier to hear and take in.

Even though everything has been going great, Harry misses something more. And he knows that it’s the physical part. Even though he wouldn’t be ready to actually be with Louis, he still misses those little intimate touches. 

He is just afraid that he is going to have his heart broken again. Because it will hurt even more now, than it did before. Now he is really sure that he loves Louis but he is restraining himself of saying it out loud. He will wait for Louis to say something. And he has been implying about the whole love thing. But he hasn’t said the actual words.

 

Harry walks in to the bedroom, listening to the bathroom sink go on and off. He sits on the bed, taking off his white jumper and folding it on his lap. The sleeves of his t-shirt tickle his skin. The pores of his skin breathe the cool air. He sits and waits patiently for Louis to come. When he does, Louis isn’t wearing his glasses and he only has a t-shirt and some joggers on.

“Harry?” He asks unsure, his eyes not settling.

“I’m here.” Harry says calmly, bringing his jumper on a chair and walking over to Louis, placing his hands on his shoulders.

“The spare toothbrush is by the wash basin.” Louis smiles and lifts his hand to brush his fingers lightly against Harry’s wrist.

“I’ll be back in a second.” Harry tells him, letting go of Louis and walking in to the bathroom.

 

He wets the brush and starts to wash his teeth. He watches himself through the mirror, his unruly hair tangled by the wind that caught in the curls. He looks different. Harry can feel it too. He actually feels happy. He isn’t so afraid anymore. He isn’t so unsure like he used to be when he had just started to date Louis. It has been replaced by happiness and a feeling of calmness.

In a long time, he feels good about himself and also about the state of his relationship. Like it could have a real future. Harry spits the toothpaste out of his mouth and splashes his face with cool water. He feels fresh but tired. Also nervous, like everything would be new and shiny all over again.

 

Louis is already under the duvet when Harry walks in. He has ditched the joggers, but Harry can see that Louis is still wearing the t-shirt. Harry loses his jeans and folds them on top of his jumper.

“It’s just me.” Harry tells Louis to not scare him when he is crawling under the blanket. Louis smiles, his eyes closed. Harry turns off the lights and nuzzles against the pillow on his stomach. The light through the window hits Louis’ face. Harry is so close to him, that he can actually count Louis’ eyelashes. He stays to stare at Louis while he hugs his pillow under his head.

 

“Are you watching me?” Louis asks, the corner of his mouth muffled by the pillow.

“Maybe.” Harry tells him, smiling. He buries his face in to the pillow and he can’t stop smiling. Like he was a 16 year old boy who hasn’t been in the same bed with a guy before. Especially a guy who he really likes. When Harry reveals his face from the pillow, he is met with Louis’ eyes that smile with his mouth.

“What are you thinking about?” Louis asks, his voice nothing but a whisper.

“Nothing.” Harry lies, his cheeks flaming.

“That’s not the truth though.” Louis remarks.

“You know me too well.” Harry sighs, relaxing his head against the pillow.

 

“Would it be so bad if I’d kiss you good night?” Louis asks suddenly, his features tensing. He is trying so hard to keep everything light and like it wouldn’t be a big deal. But apparently that’s not the case from Louis’ part either. 

Harry gives him an answer by moving so close that he covers the light from the window on Louis’ face. He breathes against Louis’ lips waiting for him to move. Louis strains his neck just an inch, his lips brushing Harry’s like he would break if Louis would touch him with more power.

When Louis is pulling back, Harry follows and locks his lips with Louis’. His nose is against Louis’ cheek, air hissing between them. The kiss is like a spreading fever. It’s so hungry, that they both forget to breathe. Harry has never felt a kiss like this, a kiss this powerful. It’s nothing like his and Louis’ first kiss and at the same time it’s their first kiss times thousand. It’s full of memories, but also blank. Like Harry wouldn’t have felt Louis’ lips ever before. Harry hums against the kiss, contently. He brings his hand in to Louis’ hair, Louis lifting his leg up to Harry’s hip.

 

Harry can actually feel sparks fly. He feels ecstatic and on fire, but still calm. He can feel his heart beat, but it’s not like he would be having a heart attack. He feels peaceful in Louis’ arms and against his lips. He smiles, his lips tightening for just a moment. But it doesn’t stop him from taking in a deep breath and go in again, his tongue touching Louis’ lips.

Louis’ hand tightens against Harry’s ribcage, just to pull him closer. Harry feels the heat rising and he knows that he would want to keep going. Hell, he would want to feel like this all the time and never stop.

 

“Louis.” Harry breaks his lips free, Louis panting against his face. His lips are against Harry’ nose, as Harry bows his head to look at their entwined bodies in the darkness.

“We should stop.” Louis says before Harry can say anything.

“Are you angry?” Harry asks. He moves so the light from the window can enlighten Louis’ face and see how Louis is reacting. But Louis smiles, his cheeks clearly blushing.

“Why would I be angry? We made a deal and I know we have to take it slow this time. So no, I’m in no way mad.” Louis sighs, cradling Harry’s body in his hands. Harry smiles and pecks Louis’ lips once more.

“Just hold me close okay?” Louis asks. Harry doesn’t hesitate a second before he has Louis in his arms. Louis still has his leg around Harry’s hip, but he has his hands in Harry’s hands. The heat between their bodies simmers and lets them fall asleep. And for the first time in a long while, Harry’s heart takes a few happy leaps in his chest and they make him giggle in his sleep.

 

\- - - -

 

“Oh, good morning!” Niall greets Harry, who is making tea. Harry turns around, his hair secured with a hair tie that Louis’ sister left at his place once. Harry didn’t even know about Louis’ sisters before he found the pink hair tie from under the bed. He had lost his socks so he bent down to search for them. And there it was, bright and pink and calling for Harry.

“Morning!” Harry smiles, his t-shirt rustling against his shower fresh skin. He isn’t wearing his jeans yet, his legs were too wet to try to pull them on. Niall looks down on to the back of a chair by the kitchen table. And Harry’s black jeans.

 

“I haven’t seen you here in three weeks?” Niall questions, walking next to Harry. He starts to grab mugs from the cupboard and places them on the table.

“Umm..” Harry’s cheeks catch the heat from the teapot.

“But I guess you are going strong?” Niall smiles, placing his hand on Harry’s shoulder. Harry laughs out a breath and smiles, lifting the pot from the stove and pouring the water in the mugs. He puts in the teabags, shaking them in the water.

 

“We are upstairs, want to join?” Harry lifts his brows, taking his jeans from the chair. He pulls them forcefully to squeeze his legs in to the tight material. He adjust his briefs under the tight fabric, feeling the wrinkles smoothing against his skin. Niall watches him with a smirk when Harry is jumping up and down to have his pants in place. He takes two of the mugs in his hands.

“I think I’m going to stay here.” Niall winks and takes his mug from the table. He marches to the sofa and sits down carefully, putting on the TV. It’s too loud but as Harry walks away from the golf match, the noise quiets and is almost gone as he reaches the door to the studio.

 

Harry steps in, meeting Louis who is standing on a huge canvas. It covers the floor from window to the opposite wall. Louis has his paint cans on one corner of the canvas but his paintbrushes are nowhere to be seen.

“I brought us some tea.” Harry says, coming next to Louis. Louis lifts his hand where Harry puts the mug. Louis stays silent, his expression deep in thought.

“What are you thinking?” Harry asks after a few sips of his tea. He doesn’t really like Yorkshire tea but its growing on him. It’s not as bad as it used to be.

 

“I’m just trying to come up with a plan.” Louis mutters, his mug almost empty. He abandons it by the door and comes to stand back next to Harry. Louis has a white t-shirt on which has ripped from the neckline. His joggers are too long for him, his bare feet making Harry smile.

“Well isn’t the plan always something in the lines of painting? Why don’t we just start?” Harry suggest, drinking the rest of his tea. It makes him grimace as the warm liquid travels down to his stomach and leaves a bitter after taste in his mouth. He takes the mug next to Louis’ and comes back to stand next to the real artist.

 

“Well do you have a plan?” Louis raises his brows and looks up to Harry. His grey eyes are bright and the hollows on his cheeks aren’t that visible anymore.

“Do you have more of that blue paint?” Harry rounds Louis to get the paint in his hands.

“Yeah, why?” Just as Louis has answered, the paint splashes, the can on its side and the paint spreading on the canvas.

“What was that?” Louis’ voice is worried, his hands fumbling to find Harry. He takes a hold of Louis’ arms, leading him to walk on the blank canvas.

 

“Come this way please.” Harry says curtly. A smile spreads on Louis’ face as he takes tentative steps lead by Harry. He lets go of Louis’ arms and gets on his knees. Harry wraps the joggers up to Louis’ knees and stands back up, giving Louis two more steps.

“What the hell!” Louis shouts as he steps in the puddle of the blue paint.

“Let’s make art!” Harry laughs, leading Louis to take steps on the untarnished white space.

“You’re ridiculous.” Louis mutters, but takes a hold of his pants and starts to walk carefully, so his steps will be clear. Harry smears his hands in the paint, starting to draw circles on the canvas. Louis walks on the blank space as long as the paint on his feet has dried. Harry makes hand prints across the canvas, dropping small stars here and there with his fingertips.

 

“What are we even making?” Louis asks, when he has dipped his feet in the paint for the third time.

“Well you can interpret this as you like. But I’m seeing this as our world.” Harry’s nonchalant voice fills the studio with the low vibrations and calm.

“Our world.” Louis hums.

“I like that.” He continues after a while of thinking. Harry smiles to himself, when he dips his hands in the paint.

 

\- -

 

“What color is this?” Louis asks as he is coming back to the pool of paint for the tenth time.

“I’ve poured blue and red on the floor.” Harry says, smearing both of the colors on his skin.

“So purple?” Louis lifts his brows.

“Yep.” Harry stands up, crashing to Louis’ body in accident. He spreads his arms away from him, Louis looking up to his face. His eyes are the epitome of frozen as they look in to Harry’s face, not finding the green of Harry’s eyes. He reaches his hands on Harry’s shoulders, tracing them towards his hands.

“I have paint on my palms.” Harry tries to get out of the situation, which keeps building. He feels the heat creeping in his chest, slowly spreading.

 

“What if I don’t care about the paint? What if I only care about our world?” Louis’ mischief is clear in his voice. His eyes blink slowly, almost like he would be moving in slow motion. His hands reach Harry’s hands, taking them upwards.

“Keep them there.” Louis leans closer, whispering the words. His hands travel down Harry’s sides, lifting his shirt from his hips. The paint on Louis’ hands from Harry make lines on to Harry’s skin, his insides shivering with the connection.

“Something is missing from our world.” Louis says, lifting Harry’s shirt over his head and pulling it off his arms. Harry’s hand almost tangles with the fabric, making him wiggle his other arm free from the clothing. He starts to giggle, Louis’ hand pressing in the middle of his chest. It’s followed with his head, his ear listening Harry’s happy sounds in his body.

 

“I agree.” Harry breathes, wrapping his hands around Louis. Louis lifts his face upwards, his lips curving in to a smile. He takes a deep breath, his lips afraid to reach Harry’s. Louis’ hands start to shake lightly against Harry’s sides, endearment taking over Harry’s mind. But when he moves his hands to Louis’ face to brush his fringe to the side and lift his chin upwards, he is no better. His hands aren’t steady and as Harry sees the shaky movements his hands make, they break a cold sweat.

“Are you sure?” Louis asks, when Harry takes a deep breath and blows it through his mouth.

“I am, I really am, believe me I am. I’m just nervous and..” Louis hugs Harry tight against himself, cutting off his words.

“I’m nervous too! I don’t know what’s gotten to me, it’s not like we wouldn’t have done this before.” Louis’ laughter vibrates through Harry’s chest and in to his core.

“I know.” Harry sighs, burying his face in to the crook of Louis’ neck.

 

“Maybe there’s just a bit more pressure this time around?” Harry suggest. Louis doesn’t say anything, but squeezes Harry more tightly. Somewhere in Harry’s mind a small voice says that the man in his arms is the person Harry really wants to be with. That the man is something so much more. That he is Harry’s dreams and hopes.

The voice in Harry’s mind encourage him to press his lips against Louis’ neck. He tastes Louis’ sweet, making him crave more. Harry’s mind doesn’t stop him, as his hands lose the shake and move to explore the skin under Louis’ shirt. 

Harry kisses a line between Louis' shoulder and the spot under Louis’ ear. Louis bends his neck, keeping himself steady by keeping his hands tightly on Harry’s biceps. They squeeze the muscles more tightly from time to time. Harry doesn’t realize the wordless meaning, until he has moved his lips against Louis’ skin a few times. As Harry’s kisses end up under Louis’ ear, Louis grips Harry harder.

 

Harry’s hair falls on his face when Louis frees them from the pink tie. Louis pulls it on his own wrist, like he would have a bracelet. The long curls cover Harry’s eyes. Some locks try to end up in his mouth, some drag against Louis revealed neck. 

Harry lifts his head from Louis’ skin, looking down at him with hungry green eyes. Harry’s hands do the work as they lift Louis’ shirt from his body. The light fabric hits Louis’ skin and makes his complexion react with goose bumps. His hands are warm as they reach for Harry’s waist to hold on to. Harry presses his palms against Louis’ cheeks, his lips brushing against Louis’ before the hunger takes over.

He can’t control the feverish heat in his nerves that try to feel everything at once. Harry’s kisses are so deep that he actually can feel Louis’ lashes hit his cheek a few times. Harry’s blue and red and purple hands curl around Louis, bending them both on the floor. 

Louis’ back hits the floor. His eyes are tightly shut, his breathing slow and deep. His stomach reveals his ribcage every time he inhales, his chest expanding with the heat filled air. His arms spread out when Harry’s lips hit the line of his jeans on his hips. His whole body relaxes with Harry’s touch.

 

\- -

 

Harry’s back muscles flex and move under his skin as he steadies himself with his right arm against the canvas. It scrunches in to wrinkles, ripping open and revealing the hardwood floor. His other arm is cradling Louis against himself, sweat prickling from their pores and mixing between their bodies. 

Louis has his head against Harry’s shoulder, his mouth open to breathe out soft moans. His back is arched, his left hand tangled in Harry’s sweat damp curls. His fingers scratch Harry’s scalp, pulling his hair gently.

With every thrust Harry makes, a new part of the canvas rips open. The paint on the other end of the canvas spreads and comes closer to Louis and Harry’s attached bodies, pooling under their left knees like water on a stormy night.

 

Harry hugs Louis' body close to his own. As if he could bring Louis even closer, he presses against his back, feeling the way his muscles shiver, how his bones move in his spine. Louis turns his face towards Harry’s, pressing his lips against Harry’s cheek. Harry moves his head to kiss Louis, but both of them are panting so hard that they just keep their mouths open, not really kissing.

Harry feels the breath flow out of Louis’ mouth and in to his, Louis’ tongue swiping against Harry’s lower lip. Harry has to reposition himself, so his arm wouldn’t give out against the canvas. He turns his head away, angling himself better. Louis’ nose scrunches against Harry’s skin, his breathing hissing out against Harry. Louis opens his mouth again, his front teeth on Harry’s cheek as his breathing cracks out.

Pearls of sweat trickle down from Louis’ hairline towards his jaw. Harry can almost hear the salt dropping on to the floor, the drops breaking in to parts and splashing all around. Harry drags his hand up and down Louis’ naked torso, the movement slow as his palm is so wet with sweat. 

He feels like they were in a sauna, both of them drenched in the heat. His heart hammers in his chest, the blood in his body pumping in his head. He only hears the blood flow in his veins and Louis’ breathy moans next to his ear.

 

It’s not long until they collapse on the floor, both of their legs shaking. Harry buries his face in to the back of Louis’ neck. They breathe in a different rhythm, the movement causing friction. Louis has his left inner thigh against the floor, his other leg entwined with Harry’s right leg. His cheek is against the painted canvas. His palms are flat on the floor, like he would be surrendering his body to Harry. And in a way it was just that.

Harry moves on to his back, laying there like a starfish. Louis rolls on top of him attaching to Harry’s hip like a koala bear. He presses his ear against Harry’s chest.

 

“So calm.” Louis whispers, pressing a kiss on top of Harry’s heart. Harry hugs Louis with his tired arms, closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths before he drifts away to light sleep. 

He feels like he would be swimming in Louis’ eyes again. This time it’s spring. It’s still frozen, but there is a light that wasn’t there before. The sun breaks through clouds and tree branches, melting some of the snow. But it doesn’t touch the icy lake. Harry doesn’t want to dive to see what is happening under the surface. If it’s still summer on the other side. He only wants to bask in the feeling of the early sun.

 

\- -

 

Louis wakes Harry up by drawing his ribs over and over again on to his skin with his finger. He has gotten a quilt over them, which was on one of the corners of the room.  
“How long did I sleep?” Harry asks, his voice rough. His throat feels sore, the reason very clear to him.

“Oww, your voice. I’ll make you tea later.” Louis says. He moves his hand on Harry’s chest, his hand following and finding Harry’s hair to comb through the sweat tangled curls.

 

“Not for long, maybe a few ten minutes.” Louis sighs, nuzzling against Harry’s chest. Harry breathes slowly, his heartbeat rhythmic and calming. Harry twirls his fingers around Louis’ hair, his scalp still a little moist. He sounds like he would be purring against Harry’s touch. Harry feels how Louis’ eyelashes sweep across Harry’s chest on that one tiny spot.

“What are you thinking?” Harry’s fingers stop for a moment, but keep on going after he has dipped his palm in Louis’ hair again.

“What are you doing on Christmas?” Louis’ drowsy voice counters.

“I guess I’ll be going home to my mom and Robin. Why? What are you doing?”

“I’m having my eye surgery.” Louis reveals, stopping Harry’s slow motions.

 

“Your heart literally just leaped.” Louis laughs, pressing his ear firmly against Harry’s chest. Harry can feel Louis’ mouth turning in to a lazy smile.

“You’re.. Going to see?” Harry swallows hard, his eyes welling up.

“Well that’s the plan and it’s a standard procedure so there’s hopefully not going to be any complications.” Louis explains. His hand traces Harry’s side, his finger going up to circle his nipple and then falling back to his side down to his hip and back up to his chest.

Harry raises his hand to lift Louis’ face. He looks in to his eyes, knowing that Louis can’t see him. Not yet. But he will. It’s a weird thought. Harry is so used to Louis not seeing him and he would never care if Louis would never see him. 

But now Louis is telling Harry that he is getting his sight back and it almost scares Harry. What if Louis will not like what he sees? What if Harry’s appearance isn’t to Louis’ liking? What if he can’t combine Harry’s appearance and personality? Louis’ hand stops flat against Harry’s ribs.

 

“You don’t want me to see you?” Louis raises his brows, smiling shyly.

“No it’s not that. I’m just.” Harry can’t finish before he lifts his head from the floor and presses his lips against Louis’ forehead. His skin is sticky and salty, their bodies screaming for a shower. Louis crawls up on Harry, his lips hitting the corner of Harry’s lips before they fit together like puzzle pieces.

 

“I’m really happy.” Harry says after a few lazy pecks. He smiles, Louis pressing his forehead against Harry’s.

“Isn’t it your birthday too?” Harry breathes in.

“Yeah, I could never ask for a better present, could I.” Louis chuckles, moving back to Harry’s side. His leg tangles with Harry’s, his eyes shutting. The movement of his lashes tickles Harry’s bare chest. He closes Louis in his arms, closing his eyes again.

“Lets stay here for a moment. After that I want to hang up this work of art under us.” Louis says, his words tangling in to Harry’s skin.

“You really want to hang this up? We just had sex on this.”

“So? At least it will be personal.” Louis laughs, the vibrations sparking in Harry’s chest and lighting a laugh.

 

\- - - -

 

“Merry Christmas.” Louis’ shaky voice says through the phone.

“Happy birthday.” Harry wishes, squeezing the phone in his hand. He is sitting in his old bedroom with no lights. He is watching the night spread across the countryside, snowflakes falling slowly. They seem to be moving in slow motion, light and with wings that try to keep them in air for as long as possible. A mug of hot mulled wine sits on the bedside table, a sweet warm smell floating in the room.

“What have you been doing today?” Louis asks, breathing slowly.

“We walked to the cemetery to light up some candles and then we came back home to make dinner. Nothing much, watched some movies, laid on the sofa with Gems.” Harry fiddles the hem of his jumper. Louis doesn’t say anything other than hums to Harry’s answer.

 

“What about you?” Harry asks, clearing his throat.

“We ate early and now I’m at the hospital waiting for the surgery.” Louis says quickly, his nerves clear in his voice. Something clatters in the background, Louis cursing silently.

“I just dropped my mug on the floor.” Louis breathes.

“Is someone there with you?” Harry tries to calm his nerves, even though Louis’ nervous voice fills his every cell.

“Mum is somewhere, she went out to get some tea.”

 

“Will you be out soon? I mean from the operation?” Harry tries to keep his thoughts at bay by watching the snow falling. But in reality it makes him more anxious. It makes him realize that he isn’t there with Louis.

“It’s supposed to take 15 minutes or so.” Harry can hear how Louis swallows.

“And then we’ll see each other on new years?” Harry’s heart pounds in his chest. In about half an hour Louis will be able to see things. Or not right after the surgery, but soon.

“We will.”

“I wish I was there.” Harry laughs a nervous laugh, sitting down on his bed in the dark room.

“Maybe it’s good that you’re not. You know, I can be a little confused after the surgery. And I like to be fully recovered from it before we meet.”

“We talk like we wouldn’t have met before.” Harry can’t stop giggling, his brain clearly trying to cope with the stress.

“It’s partially correct.” Louis chuckles, but silences himself quickly. They stay on the line, silence falling between them.

 

“Mum is back and I guess she is with the doctor. I have to go Harry.”

“Okay, okay, good luck! And happy birthday Louis! I love you!” Harry covers his mouth right after he has said the words. The first time he has ever said the words to Louis.

“Merry Christmas Harry.” Louis cuts the call, leaving Harry hanging. Harry lowers the phone on to his lap, his heart hammering. He closes his eyes and breathes deep for a few times. A soft knocking sounds from the door, waking Harry to open his eyes.

“Can I come in?” His sister peeks her head through the crack of the door. Harry nods his head, replacing the mug of mulled wine on the table with his phone. He cradles the warm mug in his hands, sipping in the wintery flavours. Gemma sits next to Harry, a similar mug in her hands.

 

“So, how’s the boyfriend?” She knocks her elbow to Harry’s.

“He is getting his eye surgery today.” Harry breathes, bowing his head down.

“Why didn’t you tell us earlier?” Gemma tilts her head, some of her blond hair cascading down from her shoulder.

“I don’t know..” Harry sighs, his shoulders slumping forward.

“You’re nervous too?”

“Of course!”

“Because you love him and he has never seen you?” Gemma nods her head towards Harry, her voice low.

“How do you know that I love him?”

“Because you just blurted it out through your call.” She makes it sound more like a question. Harry turns his head towards her, his dark eyes glinting in the room.

“And it’s quite obvious that you love him. Mom has been saying it for a while now, that you’re in loooove.” She drags the word, giggling lightly.

“Stop it.” Harry chuckles. Gemma leans against Harry’s shoulder.

 

“I’d like to meet him someday. I know mom wants that too.” She drinks from her mug, her cheek pressed to Harry’s shoulder. Her hair falls to Harry’s back, the blond strands and Harry’s dark curls touching.

“Maybe someday.” Harry looks down to his mug, not seeing the liquid in the street light lit room.

“That’s a promise then?” Gemma asks, her voice hopeful.

“It’s a promise.” Harry sighs, but chuckles. He leans his head against Gemma’s.

 

“Are you spending new years together?”

“Yeah, Niall, his flatmate is throwing a party. We’ll see each other before that.”

“You have to tell me how it goes then. But now, we are going downstairs because mum and Robin have chocolate cake and tea for us and I believe we’re watching another movie.” Gemma lifts her head from Harry’s shoulder, taking his hand in to hers.

 

“He’ll say the words back, I’m sure of it.” She says before she opens the door.

“What?” Harry stops in his tracks, swallowing. His palms sweat, the words burning on his tongue.

“Just the way you said it made it really clear that you haven’t said it to him before.” Gemma smiles gently, her warm eyes glinting.

“Let’s not talk about this to mum okay?” Harry asks, his cheeks blushing.

“Okay.” Gemma nods, catching her brother’s uneasiness. She squeezes Harry’s hand reassuringly before she leads them downstairs towards the delicious smell of Christmas, spices and cake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on tumblr: [sing-about-being-free](http://sing-about-being-free.tumblr.com/) (main) or [alltheselittlewritings](http://alltheselittlewritings.tumblr.com/). Come say hi or please leave a comment :)


	10. Chapter 10

Step. Step. Step. Step. Step.

Harry walks slowly towards Louis’ house. The air is crispy, snowflakes laying on the grassy patches next to the street. Some frozen, brown leaves scrunch under Harry’s feet.

Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.

His heels hit the pavement in rhythmic beats. His breath puffs out smoke from his mouth, as the cold air turns the warm air from his lungs in to small crystals in the winter. He can already see Louis’ house. It’s so close yet so far.

 

This is the first time Harry will meet Louis after his operation. It was a success, Louis can see again. While Harry has been talking with Louis on the phone, his cheeks have started to hurt from him smiling so wide. Louis is always so amazed by his surroundings. He is always describing what he sees and how he has seen them while he couldn’t use his eyes to experience the things around him. When Harry asked if he could come and meet Louis, he said no. That he wants to be fully recovered.

So they made a deal. On New Year’s eve. That’s when they will meet. And here Harry is, walking towards Louis’ house, a bottle of tequila in his other hand and a bag of limes in his other. The plastic bag hisses as it moves in time with Harry’s legs. The fruits bounce in the bag, shifting against the material.

 

Harry has his usual black skinny jeans on, but this time he has really put some effort in to his appearance. He wants to look the best he can when Louis sees him for the first time. Like Harry would need to make an excellent first impression. Like he would be going to a job interview. He has a black button up shirt on, but as usual, he hasn’t buttoned up all of the buttons. It would only make him feel like suffocating.

Also his hair has gone through some sort of a transformation. He put in some gel and now his curls are extra bouncy. Before he left his place, he looked himself through the mirror and realized that his hair is like a lion’s mane. He sighed a long, exasperated sigh and made a wish for it to be perfect when he is going to get to Louis’. Now he really wishes it will be perfect.

 

Harry is really afraid that Louis is going to be the one opening the door for him. That when Harry is out of breath and his cheeks will be frost kissed and his hair is going to be a mess, he is going to meet Louis. And this time he will see Harry without the haziness in his eyes.

At least the party hasn’t started yet. It’s still a good hour away until all the other guests will arrive and the party will happen. It will give Harry and Louis some time to get used to the whole sight thing. At least when Harry talked with Niall about what he should be bringing with, Niall sounded very happy and he told that Louis has been very active with the party planning. Harry could hear Louis yelling in the background for Harry to bring that good tequila they once had when they had gotten back together.

Niall also told that Louis had been very shocked when he had seen Niall. Even though they have been friends for a lot longer than Harry has even known Louis, still Louis had never seen Niall.

 

Step.

Harry starts to smile as he takes the first step on the first stair. He has to stop for a moment to collect his nerves. His heart is pumping blood like his throat would be cut open. He hears the blood flowing in his ears, his head light like he would be seeing stars. Harry looks up towards the stairwell, knowing that he has to climb five flights of stairs up to be behind Louis’ door.

 

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

Harry hears his heart in his ears, flying like a hummingbird. Harry’s smile is hurting his cheeks again, his muscles twitching on his face. He feels cold, the excitement draining all the warmth from his blood. It’s an exhausting feeling to be so nervous and excited at the same time. 

His brain is going through almost like a fight or flight motion. Everything is so overwhelming that his brain can’t take it anymore. The stairs seem like a marathon run, his lungs collapsing and filling with air like explosions.

 

Harry’s hand hovers in front of the door, almost knocking but his hand stays just far enough to not even touch the surface. He can see the shake in his hand, the tequila in the glass bottle wavering. Harry closes his eyes and imagines Louis in front of him. He could be opening the door. And then they will meet and they will smile and maybe share a kiss. And it will be nervous, like they were both still some silly teenagers trying to hide from their parents because they don’t know how they would introduce the new boy to the family. That’s how it plays out in Harry’s head. Everything will go smoothly and Harry’s hands and legs will stop shaking. And everything will be fine.

 

“Harry!” Niall shouts as he opens the door with a garbage bag in his hand. Harry almost drops the alcohol on the floor, the limes already tumbling out of the plastic bag that he drops from his strong grip. He looks down to his feet, the green fruit rolling slowly between him and Niall. Harry looks back up, meeting the happy blue eyes. Niall’s cheeks flush with joy, his hair styled up. His cologne smells sweet and soft, just like Niall.

“Hi!” Harry breathes out, dropping to his knees to collect the fruit back in to the plastic bag.

“Did you stand here for long?” Niall asks, like he would be the damn question mark himself.

“A while.” Harry stands back up, securing his grip of the glass bottle with both of his hands.

 

“Nervous huh?” Niall smirks, dropping the garbage bag by the doorframe. He takes Harry by his waist and guides him inside. The door closes behind them, Harry peering the apartment to see another familiar face.

The place is fully decorated. The living room and kitchen area are full of party hats and plastic cups and bottles of alcohol and snack bowls here and there. Music is playing lowly, setting the mood for the last party of the year. Surely it will be turned louder as more people will come celebrate. Now it’s nice, it tries to distract Harry’s mind elsewhere from his nerves.

“He is up in the studio.” Niall winks, walking by the kitchen table. He does something to the punch that is in a large bowl, a ladle leaning against the edge. He pours apparently vodka in to the colourful liquid, dipping his finger in and licking it to taste the drink. He makes an approving sound, savoring the taste on his tongue.

 

“I’ll just leave these here.” Harry places the tequila on the table with the limes. Niall nods and pours some more vodka in to his mix. Harry takes off his black coat, hangs it by the door and kicks his shoes off.

“Is he nervous?” Harry stops next to Niall, asking the words more lowly.

“Nervous? That’s the understatement of the year!” Niall shouts, the smell of pure alcohol puffing out with his breath. Harry smiles with his lips tight and nods. He looks towards the corridor, walking towards it. At the corner he peeks in to the hallway, only to see it empty. The door on top of the stairs is ajar, a streak of light sparking to the wall.

 

Harry’s steps are cautious, quiet. He fixes his hair, throwing it from his right temple to his left. The horrible thought of his hair looking like from the 80’s sets Harry’s brain in to a frenzy. He tries his hair with his hand, like he would be able to see it with his touch. At least it’s not that puffy like when he left from his apartment. Maybe it’s alright.

 

Step… Step… Step… Step… Step…

 

Harry stands behind the door. The light from the room shines in his eyes, making him see anything but white. Every light in the room must be on, it’s not that bright even when it would be daytime. Harry’s hand touches the door handle, the door opening without a sound. Harry peeks his head inside, his face going slack.

There is Louis, standing in the middle of the room. His hands are bent in front of him, probably at least his other hand on his face. His eyes are fixed on the canvases on the walls. The first Harry sees is the one filled with love, the other covered in the act of love. Harry feels like he isn’t even breathing anymore. His lungs are full of air, but he isn’t breathing it out or replacing it with fresh air.

With a final push of the door, Harry steps inside and closes the door after him.

Click.

 

Louis flinches in his spot, his shoulders tense. He is dressed in a black shirt and his jeans are so tight that Harry can see the muscles flexing on his thighs. Harry stands there, afraid to move. 

He still remembers the moment he and Louis hung up their second work, the canvas on their left. The paint wasn’t dry, so it started to make rivers on the broken canvas, falling down towards the edge. The rips on the material are angry like someone would’ve tried to steal an organ from the painting. Some scratches of nails are clear on the surface, their sweat marks and other bodily fluids creating two figures.

 

“I never realized that they would look like this.” Louis murmurs. Harry swallows hard, his stomach twisting.

“What did you imagine then?” Harry’s voice asks, surprising himself. He sounds like he would’ve eaten a lot of glitter.

“Not this.” Louis chuckles.

“You haven’t seen these before? You haven’t been here until now?” Harry asks, for the first time he breathes. In the silence everything sounds hard and too loud.

“No, I wanted to save this for when we meet.” Louis voice is happy, his back muscles moving under his shirt.

 

“You nervous?” Louis asks, his voice shaking.

“What do you think?”

“You can’t be nervous.” Louis laughs, dropping his hands to his sides.

“Well are you nervous?” Harry counters.

“Of course I am, I’ve never seen you.” He says fake annoyed. Harry drops his gaze to the floor, smiling to himself.

“Is this going to be like on some home repairing shows where they have done the decoration and the host will present the new space to the house owners?” Harry asks, lifting his eyes back up to see Louis’ shoulders a bit more relaxed.

“It sure does feel like it.” Louis voice is playful.

 

“Even coming here was like I would’ve never been in this place. It was weird to touch my comforter and actually see it. Or what this place looks like! What my handwriting looks like. Or what you had originally written.” Louis points to the corner of the first painting on the wall, where Harry’s blue notes and letters are scattered.

“Just there.” His voice gets low and breaks.

 

Step.

“Or that one over there! I can actually see our bodies pressed on the canvas!” Louis throws his hand towards the other painting.

 

Step. Step.

“I’m so nervous to turn around when I already know you but I’ve never seen you. I mean, I’ve seen you, but.. That was only with my hands. I’ve. Never. Seen. You. Harry.”

 

Step. Step. Step. Step.

“Please, turn around.” Harry whispers, his head about to explode with his heart. He stands right behind Louis, seeing a little freckle on his neck.  
Louis takes a deep breath, lifting his hands on his face. He turns around, not removing his hands from his eyes.

“I’m so fucking nervous Harry!” He cries out, laughter mixing with his squeaky voice. Harry laughs with him, taking Louis’ wrist in to his hands.

“I’m just as nervous as you are, Louis. I guess you can feel how my fingers are cold and shaking?” Louis nods his head.

“This is all so new for both of us. But we just have to face this. So..”

“I just have to do it.” Louis finishes.

 

Harry nods his head to his words, pulling Louis’ hands slowly from his eyes. It’s like peeling a present from its golden wrapping paper. Louis has a smile on his face, his wrists still in Harry’s hands. His lashes lay on his cheeks as he squeezes his eyes shut as tightly he ever can. He takes a deep breath, before his eyes flutter open.

They hit Harry’s chest, taking in the broad shoulders and the black shirt and the skin that tries to break through those few buttons that have been left unbuttoned. The smile vanishes, his cheeks tinting red. 

He bites his lips together, licking them and releasing air from his lungs as he leaves his mouth open. His eyes roam Harry’s body, leaving Harry’s face last. Harry’s legs start to shake again, when he sees Louis’ eyes through his lashes. Louis’ eyes find Harry’s jawline, watching him under his brows. Louis swallows, closing his mouth. His eyes blink a few times, before he moves to Harry’s lips, nose, finally finding his eyes.

 

Harry can see the freezing blue in Louis’ eyes, which has now turned in to a vibrant summer. Blue and a hint of green and so so blue like the sea and a hint of sunrise and sunset and everything warm and everything refreshing. Flowers blooming and birds singing and summer rain. Harry can almost smell just cut grass. Harry is in the middle of the lake in Louis’ eyes. He is swimming on the other side of that frozen world. He swims and nothing can stop him. There are no boundaries for him to reach Louis, he just keeps swimming.  
Louis’ eyes break in to tears, the salty water spilling from his eyes on his cheeks. Harry releases his wrists to break the rivers from his eyes.

 

“Why are you crying?” Harry’ sounds even more worried than he feels in his head.

“You don’t like what you see?” His confidence is hit with a truck on a freeway.

“No! God no!” Louis cries out. He starts to smile, a sparkling smile that shines more brightly than the lights in the room. Harry drops his hands from Louis’ face, his brows scrunching together.

“I could’ve never though that you would look like this. I mean, when you told me on that first date that you have dimples and green eyes and curly hair, I never imagined it to be like this. You aren’t even smiling and I can see the dimples! It was all incomplete in my head, I couldn’t find the things you told me and still there you were. Now I can see you and.. Whow!” Louis laughs, blushing fiercely. The nerves in Harry’s body dissolve in to a buzz, a shy smile revealing his teeth.

 

“And that hair! That’s what I’ve been pulling while we’ve fucked. Oh my god, you’ve seen me naked!” Louis eyes bulge from his head, his laughter turning more awkward.

“Like you wouldn’t have touched me. You even told me that you remember what my body is like because your hands have seen me, remember?” Harry tries to remind, his own blush creeping up from his chest.

“Well I never thought I was having sex with someone like you!”

“Someone like me?”

“So hot!” Louis laughs, covering his mouth with his hand.

 

“I’m so embarrassing.” Louis shakes his head. He guides his hand in to Harry’s hair, dipping his fingers in the luscious curls. He tugs them, Harry opening his mouth to give out a breath.

“How the hell did you even see me in that class?” Louis mumbles out. Harry swallows, a smirk splaying on to his lips and saving him from giving a moan.

“Well first of all, you’re almost the only guy there. And second of all..” Harry takes a step closer, his hands sneaking on Louis’ hips.

“I’ve never seen someone so beautiful before.” He leans in and whispers in to Louis’ ear. He can feel Louis’ hot cheek against his own. He drags his lips just to the corner of Louis’ mouth, when there is a loud knock on the door and it swings open. Harry bends his head down to lean it against Louis’ shoulder.

 

“You’re still here? C’mon now, people are already arriving! They are a bit early!” Niall enthuses from the door and leaves it open. He leaves the couple hugging for a moment before the loud bass fills the apartment. Louis chuckles against Harry’s shoulder, giving him a kiss on his collarbone.

“We’ll get our new years kiss, I promise.” Louis says in to Harry’s ear. Harry lifts his head, a smug smile on his lips.

“I sense a deal coming?” He lifts his brows up.

“Let’s not kiss until midnight?” Louis suggests, mirroring Harry’s expression.

“Fine, but just so you know, it’s going to kill me to wait for so long.” Harry growls but smiles.

“Only six hours.” Louis brings Harry closer, hugging him against his chest.

“Six hours of pure torture.” Harry murmurs against Louis’ neck.

 

“Another deal? No more deals?” Louis suggests. Harry leans away, separating from Louis to eye him suspiciously. Harry reaches his hand out between them.

“No more deals.” Harry confirms, Louis smiling and shaking his hand.

“Now come on you…” Louis looks at Harry trying to find the words.

“You sexy handsome and lets celebrate.” Harry laughs a throaty laugh at Louis’ nickname.

“That doesn’t even make any sense!” Louis takes Harry’s hand in his, starting to lead them downstairs.

“It makes sense to me.” Louis winks and takes them in to the pounding of the bass.

 

\- -

 

Louis has his hand clutched around Harry’s. He leans his head to Harry’s shoulder, a glass of Niall’s extra alcohol punch in his other hand. He has been smiling the whole evening. Not once has he let go of Harry’s hand. They’ve been talking with Niall’s friends, hand in hand. They’ve been getting drinks, hand in hand. They’ve been sitting here and there, hand in hand. They’ve been dancing, hand in hand. And the smile on his face hasn’t dropped. The little squeezes of their hands or the affectionate grazes of fingertips against inner wrists or on top of knuckles leave them wanting more.

Fucking torture. 

 

Harry is swimming in Louis’ summer eyes. The only thing he can see are the different blues in Louis’ eyes, the different shades and waves and life. Louis eyes are life. Harry can’t stop staring at his eyes. He has a smirk on his face when his staring makes Louis blush tomato red. He smiles when Louis smiles back. 

He wonders in the marvel that is Louis and his eyes. His heart races because he knows he can’t hide his looks from Louis anymore. Louis can see what he is doing, if he is deep in thought. If he is hurt. If he is happy. Sad. Nervous. Angry. Playful. Amazed. Annoyed. Shy. Unsure. Inspired. Ecstatic. Tender. Passionate. Loving. Harry can’t hide his feelings anymore behind the fact that Louis can’t see him. Because now he can.

Harry has said the three words. The eight letters. Full of feeling and thought. Even though it was through a phone line, Harry meant every syllable he said out loud. And it freaks him out that Louis hasn’t answered him. Not then, not since, not now. But Louis is smiling, he smiles whenever he is looking at Harry. He is like the sun when his eyes meet Harry’s.

 

A humongous crowd has turned up on to the roof top terrace to see the fireworks. People are laughing and talking and drinking. The music has been left behind, the only sounds are made by the party guests. 

Louis and Harry are huddled in their own little world by the railing. The city is alive and lit. Harry has his arm around Louis’ shoulders, like he was a warm blanket. Louis has his ear against Harry’s chest, listening to the irregular beat. He smiles knowingly, looking up at Harry’s face.

 

“TEN!” The people start to yell, the air filling with freezing breath.

Harry looks down to Louis’ face.

 

“NINE!”

Louis liberates himself from under Harry’s arm.

 

“EIGHT!” Some people are screaming down on the street just in time with the people on the terrace.

Louis puts his drink on the table nearby.

 

“SEVEN!”

Louis turns Harry around.

 

“SIX!”

He pushes Harry against the handrail.

 

“FIVE!”

Louis steps forward, visibly shaking.

 

“FOUR!”

He places his hands on Harry’s shoulders. Harry breathes air through his mouth, the atoms turning white.

 

“THREE!”

Harry puts his hands on Louis’ waist and moves them down to his hips.

 

“TWO!” The people are already cheering.

Harry smiles down at Louis, seeing Louis’ eyes welling up with tears.

 

“ONE!”

The tears spill. The town’s clock tower starts to boom to tell it’s midnight. The fireworks go off with a swoosh. Harry presses his lips against Louis’, his hands moving to Harry’s hair and pulling them in his fists. The third first kiss.

 

The fireworks explode in the air. Harry can see green and blue and red and golden and purple through his eyelids, while he breaths in his life. With his kisses he dries Louis’ tears, the tears of joy that make him smile. Louis laughs in to the kiss, breathy and shaky. He holds on to Harry with his dear life, his brain turning mushy.

“Happy new year.” Harry breaks the kiss to whisper the words. He is certain that Louis can see his heartbeat through his shirt. Louis hands lower to his chest, keeping his grip on Harry’s pulse point.

Louis looks up to Harry’s face. And suddenly, there isn’t a smile. Just tears that stream down his cheeks, to his neck and wet his shirt. His mouth moves like he would want to say something, but with his ability to see, he has lost his ability to speak.

 

“Louis?”

“I love you.” Louis breathes, his eyes sparking with the fireworks. He loses all the tension in his face, his body relaxes and that bright smile returns. He listens to Harry’s heartbeat going crazy with his hands and he smiles like this would be his last day on earth.

Three words. Eight letters.

Harry dives in to Louis’ eyes, kissing his lips and forgetting who he is. The only thing that matters is Louis. And that he said it.

“I love you.” Harry smiles squeezing Louis in his arms. He can hear Louis breathing and laughing in his ear, grabbing his shirt on his back. Harry’s own tears spill from his eyes like pure pearls, life taking over him.

 

\- - - -

 

“You’re late!” Lina hisses from her spot by the microphone. Everyone is already in the studio. Students are waiting behind their canvases, pencils, colors and paint brushes ready. Harry nods and rushes behind the piano.

He digs out his notes and almost throws them on the holder. A sheet floats away, hitting the floor with a swish. Harry bends down to pick it up. He hears someone dropping a pencil, the wooden object rolling for a second. Harry sees the hand that reaches for the pencil behind their canvas, making him smile.

Slowly Harry sits up, straightens his notes and looks towards the pencil dropper. Harry touches the keys of the piano, playing his hello.

Louis lifts his head behind the canvas like he was an animal on high alert. His blue eyes shine, his cheeks tinting pink. As soon as Louis sees the green forest Harry’s eyes give him, he smiles and winks at him.

Harry smirks down at the piano, feeling the heat rising to his cheeks.

His heart beats like there is no tomorrow.

 

Life.

Love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on tumblr: [sing-about-being-free](http://sing-about-being-free.tumblr.com/) (main) or [alltheselittlewritings](http://alltheselittlewritings.tumblr.com/). Come say hi or please leave a comment :)
> 
> You can find a playlist, which inspired me to write this fic [here](http://alltheselittlewritings.tumblr.com/post/133149542025/its-your-image-burnt-into-my-mind-playlist).  
> Thank you for reading, hopefully you enjoyed! :)

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr:[sing-about-being-free](http://sing-about-being-free.tumblr.com/) (main) or [alltheselittlewritings](http://alltheselittlewritings.tumblr.com/) . Come say hi or please leave a comment :)


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